


lightning in a bottle

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Curses, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Storms, hand holding, so much hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: “Oh, you’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” She stroked one fingertip across Jaskier’s cheek, then angled it so he felt the sharp bite of her nail. “A tempest in a teacup. Lightning in a bottle. You take me back to my Aretuza days, little bard.”“Don’t touch him,” Geralt growled, low and deadly.“I don’t think you’re in a position to threaten, witcher.”~*~During a fight with a mad sorceress Jaskier becomes cursed, and now storms follow his vivid emotions. He'll have to keep his feelings for Geralt under control while they wander in search of a cure. Each rumble of thunder threatens his long kept secret, and brings him one step closer to losing all he holds dear in life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 204
Kudos: 719





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete, just going through edits. I hope you enjoy! <3

~*~

“Stay here, Jaskier.”

“That’s something I’m not so good at, if you’ll recall,” Jaskier pointed out cheerfully. “However, I will do my best, just this once. I admit I’m much more interested in this old cottage than I am with tracking whatever thing you’re looking for.”

Geralt grunted, glancing again at the small ruin before them, thatched roof caved in and door askew. He flattened his palm over the medallion on his chest. “Knock yourself out. I can feel that something or someone has been here, but they’re not here now. I’ll see if I can pick up a trail. Watch Roach.”

“You can count on me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier gasped. “When have I ever let you down?”

Geralt raised the other eyebrow.

“When it counts, I mean.”

Geralt sighed a little, conceding the point, then moved off into the woods, the thick growth of trees quickly swallowing him into their darkness. Jaskier looked up at the sky, bright and blue above the little clearing, and shivered in spite of himself. Whatever had left a magical signature for Geralt to follow had to be a formidable creature, to have taken so many people over the last year and left nothing but hollowed husks of bodies, internal organs ripped out.

The fact that Geralt hadn’t ruled out the human kind of monster made Jaskier even less eager to follow him into the woods. Here in the sunny clearing he felt a little more at ease, the way a child might take comfort from a candle in the night.

There was an old stone well next to the cottage, a pulley with no bucket left on the end of the trailing rope. Jaskier looped Roach’s reins over a hook on the side and turned his attention to the cottage. He wasn’t sure why he felt drawn to it. He could see a worn table and overturned chair through the gap in the door, and he approached slowly, suddenly apprehensive even though Geralt had said there was nothing there.

Indeed, the cottage appeared to be empty when he stepped up to the doorway. He placed a hand on the weathered door frame for balance as he moved to duck under the falling thatch, and between one blink and the next the interior had righted itself with a shimmer of magic, revealing a table laden with jars of colored glass, piles of herbs, a scale, and a stone mortar and pestle. More herbs hung drying from the perfectly sound thatched roof. Jaskier sucked in a deep breath.

“Glamour,” he whispered to himself, blinking hard. He could hear Geralt’s voice in his head saying, “ _Jaskier, don’t be a damn fool_ ,” and he stepped into the cottage anyway.

There wasn’t much inside other than the work table, just a narrow bed in one corner and another small table with the ingredients for a stew next to a cold hearth. A few crystals hung in the window, fracturing the light throughout the room. They brightened the space but also emphasized the sparse furnishings, the dirt floor. Whoever lived here did so in meager circumstances. He’d seen enough in his experiences with Geralt to know that he was probably in the home of a lonely hedge witch, though how or why the little cottage was under a glamour he couldn’t say.

It wasn’t until he stepped closer to the table that he noticed the dried blood and viscera clinging to the copper scale, dripping across the wood, spattering the pestle where it sat beside the mortar. Some of the larger jars held dark lumps of what could be whole organs floating in liquid. Flies crawled over the mess, droning quietly in the still air.

Jaskier gagged and backed away, a cold sweat breaking out in his forehead. He had just a moment to register Roach’s uneasy snorting, before he stumbled backward out of the cottage and right into a wall of magic so strong that it felt like swimming through molasses, heavy and sickly sweet in the back of his throat.

He slowly turned around to face a woman whose faded blonde hair fell in long tangles over her green dress. The hem was frayed, as well as the cuffs, and it clearly had once been a fine thing to look upon, but her apron was stained rust-red in streaks and blotches. She held a bundle of wild herbs in her dirty, chapped hands. Her vivid green eyes were narrowed, her gaze sharp, her full mouth pursed with something stronger than irritation.

“Ah, you see,” Jaskier began, struggling to lift his arms in supplication. “That is, I beg your pardon, my lady. I was merely curious about the ruined cottage. I...like ruins. Yes. I find them quite beautiful, the slow decay of time and the collapse of beauty, and all that. I was not expecting to see what I saw inside, but rest assured I have no intention of disturbing you further. If you’ll allow it, I’ll just take my horse and go, and we’ll both forget this ever happened.”

He offered a small smile with his babbling, working to keep his countenance open and unafraid, desperately trying not to think about the blood on her apron, the jars of organs.

She tilted her head at him, examining him from head to toe, like a farmer at market eyeing a fatted calf. “What is your name?”

“Jaskier, my lady,” he said, brightening his smile and attempting a little bow though he could barely move. “Wandering poet and bard extraordinaire. If it’s a song you would like as an apology for disturbing your home, I’d be glad to give you one. My lute is just there.” He nodded toward Roach, who stood alert, her reins stretched taut where they were caught on the well’s hook. 

Fear tightened his chest, but he forced it down. All he had to do was keep the witch occupied until Geralt returned.

“I need no song,” she said, her voice sharp with amusement.

Jaskier tried to hide his shudder. “Surely there is something you would like in recompense. I do feel terrible for invading your clearly sacred space.”

“Your companion. Where has he gone?” Her eyes flicked once to the forest and then back to Jaskier.

“Companion? I travel alone, save for my faithful horse, as you see.”

“I can smell him, bard. I can smell his magic.”

Jaskier swallowed, feeling his ruse crumbling to bits. “I have no idea where he is,” he replied honestly, hoping that she would be satisfied. Geralt was somewhere in the forest, and that was all Jaskier knew.

“You wouldn’t tell me if you did.” It was a statement rather than a question.

He sighed. “Not for all the wine in Toussaint.”

One flick of her hand and his throat tightened, leaving him sucking in panicked breaths. He dragged a hand up to his throat, as though clawing at it would do any good. She held his gaze, and he imagined he could see all kinds of horrors within their green depths. Perhaps he could indeed. After a minute she released him, and he gasped raggedly for air. “Not a hedge witch, then,” he said, coughing, dropping all pretense of cooperation.

“Not a hedge in sight,” she replied with a shake of her head. He could see she had once been beautiful, and should still have been, had she graduated from Aretuza’s hallowed halls. He’d seen enough of sorceresses to know the way of things.

“Your name, if it please you,” Jaskier said stiffly. “I’d like to know who holds my life in her hands.”

She looked for a moment as though she wouldn’t answer, then arched a brow and said, “Theda.” Then she curled her fingers in the air and that was all he saw before everything went black.

~*~

When he opened his eyes next he was lying on his side on the hard ground, a view of Roach’s hooves and the weather-beaten stones of the well before him. Upon moving he felt ropes binding his hands behind him and his legs at the ankles. Everything was quiet in the clearing, and Jaskier lay still for a moment, listening. There was a soft clink of glass coming from inside the cottage, but he couldn’t swivel around to see it.

As quietly as he could he rolled onto his knees, wobbling until he found his balance. His wrists were bound so tightly that he felt his bones grind together when he tried to move. There was no way out of them, he quickly surmised, and therefore no hope of freeing his legs.

He felt like a trussed up deer, ready for the spit, and realized belatedly that he very well could be. He swallowed, his throat dry, and watched the woods for a sign of Geralt returning. He wondered if Geralt, for all his skill in combat and his adept use of witcher signs, could go up against a mad sorceress and win.

Theda stepped out of the cottage just moments before Geralt appeared between the trees at the edge of the clearing, clearly having sensed him. Geralt walked slowly, his movements focused. His eyes darted once to Jaskier, then back at the witch.

“Jaskier?” he asked stiffly, betraying no emotion.

“Tied up like dinner, but otherwise fine,” Jaskier replied, relieved that his voice was steady even though his hands were shaking. “Meet Theda. She doesn’t seem to like me much, but perhaps you’ll have better luck. On the other hand, she’s been killing innocent people for their organs, so it’s possible that friendship is off the table.”

Theda’s lip curled, twisting her face and ruining the effect of her aging beauty. “Your bard talks a lot, but says little.”

Geralt nodded. “I believe we can both agree on that if nothing else.”

“Hey,” Jaskier said, offended.

“It’s very unfortunate that you’re here, witcher,” Theda said irritably. “Now I’m forced to move on, and I did enjoy this place a great deal. The country folk here have been so helpful.”

“What do you need the organs for, anyway?” Jaskier asked, curiosity getting the better of him. “Seriously, I’d love to know the reason for all that death.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “I imagine your tongue gets the better of you fairly often.”

“You have no idea,” Jaskier shot back, and he heard Geralt grunt.

“Shut up, Jaskier,” he muttered, and when Jaskier glanced at him he saw Geralt’s hand subtly forming a sign, a shimmering light building between his fingers.

What happened next was almost too quick for Jaskier to follow. Geralt lunged and threw _Aard_ toward the witch, whose hair was barely ruffled, because she had tossed it aside with a shake of her hand and made a sign of her own. Jaskier could taste burnt molasses on the back of his tongue again, and Geralt lurched to a stop, struggling in vain against her magic.

Jaskier leaned toward Geralt on instinct, wanting to help him, and nearly fell over, forgetting his bound legs. He looked at Theda, fighting against the ropes. “Witch,” he cried mockingly, “I’m guessing by the state of you that you failed out of Aretuza before they granted you long life and beauty. Were you too unbalanced? Too weak? Simply unworthy?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snarled in warning.

Theda looked startled, then her eyes widened in rage. “You think perfection comes for free? I was as worthy as the rest of them, and I can make my own way.”

She strode back into the cottage, and the sound of things clattering inside resumed. Geralt and Jaskier looked at each other, and Jaskier was startled to see something very akin to worry in his eyes. He was almost close enough to touch, had either of them been able.

“Can you move at all?” Jaskier asked in a whisper, and Geralt shook his head slightly. Jaskier bit his lip. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’m working on it.”

That didn’t sound too promising to Jaskier, whose mind was racing. The fact that he was tied up and not caught in the same spell as Geralt suggested that she didn’t have the strength to maintain something strong enough for both of them. Perhaps he could stall her, draw it out to drain her until she couldn’t contain Geralt anymore. Jaskier wasn’t a fighter, but he could talk his way out of almost anything.

“I’ve got an idea,” Jaskier muttered quietly.

Geralt closed his eyes briefly. “No.”

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“I know I’m not going to like it.”

“You just work on trying to move, and I’ll do the talking.”

“Jaskier, don’t you fucking antagonize her,” Geralt hissed.

Jaskier was about to reply indignantly when Theda marched back out of the cottage with one large, heavy looking traveling bag, which she set down at her feet when she came to a stop in front of them. She looked determined and haughty, a look Jaskier was very familiar with on the face of a very different sorceress. She raised one hand toward them and Jaskier could see she was shaking just a little, and there were lines of fatigue around her mouth. Jaskier honestly couldn’t tell if her intention was to kill them or not.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” Jaskier blurted with outrageously false sincerity, a sweet smile plastered on his face. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get to know each other better, but alas, we all have better places to be. I wish you safe travels!”

Theda laughed and stepped closer to them. “I believe I can spare just a moment for such a lovely pair. Another time, I’d have truly enjoyed taking from you what I took from the others. I imagine the brain of a witcher and the heart of a bard would make for a potent mixture that would set me up for decades. Although I suppose there’s nothing wrong with having a taste.”

Geralt twitched and snarled when she moved closer to Jaskier, who flung his head back defiantly, though his heart was pounding. “I’ve been told I don’t taste nearly as sweet as I look. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Oh, you’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” She stroked one fingertip across Jaskier’s cheek, then angled it so he felt the sharp bite of her nail. “A tempest in a teacup. Lightning in a bottle. You take me back to my Aretuza days, little bard.”

“Don’t touch him,” Geralt growled, low and deadly.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to threaten, witcher.” She ran her finger along the seam of the scratch she’d made, then licked the smear of blood off her fingertip.

“You’re not in a position to live much longer, _witch_ ,” Jaskier spat, then snapped his teeth at her hand when she reached for him again.

She stepped back, surprised and amused. “You missed your calling. You should have a sword in your hand, not a lute, with all that venom in your heart.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, but it’s not venom, is it? Let me see, I’m dying to know. Just a peek.”

Jaskier felt a sudden pressure in his head, as though his brain was somehow too big for his skull. He could feel her forcing her way in, shoving parts of him around like so much trash in a bin. He gritted his teeth and filled his head with the most hateful things he could think of, but in the end he knew she could see everything. Everything.

He could hear Geralt shouting but couldn’t distinguish the words through the agony in his head. Suddenly she was gone, leaving a hollow burn straight through the middle of him, as though he’d had far too much wine and had awakened to bright sunlight. He gagged on the pain, suppressing the urge to vomit.

Once he could open his eyes and focus on her, she was laughing with delight, though visibly swaying with exhaustion. “Oh, bard, such desperation. Such a secret. What strength you’ve needed to build, to keep it inside. I wonder what would happen if I pulled it out of you.”

Jaskier could feel the blood drain from his face in a rush of his frantic heartbeat. Distantly he was aware that the wind had picked up and the sky was darkening. “Don’t, please.”

She shrugged. “Well, what would be the fun in that? I think I’ll let you spill your secret out all by yourself.”

He had just a moment to wonder what that meant, then the heavens opened up and cold rain poured down, fat drops that ran down inside his collar and quickly soaked through his clothes. “What--”

“Amazing what you can do with a little drop of chaos,” she murmured, barely audible over the sound of the rain and the sudden roll of thunder. “Lightning in a bottle, bard. That’s what you are.”

Geralt was straining next to him, fighting her spell with everything he had, and Jaskier saw him take a heavy step toward the witch. She noticed it too, and sighed shakily. Another flick of her hand and Geralt doubled over in pain, groaning.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelled, twisting his wrists in the ropes until he felt his skin burn.

“I had hoped for more time,” the witch said, clucking her tongue with disappointment, “but your witcher is stronger than I had expected, and to be honest I hate the rain. At any rate, I hope you enjoy your gift, bard. Next time we meet you can tell me all about it.”

“Gift? What gift?” Jaskier asked, halfway distracted by the rain in his eyes and Geralt slowly sinking to his knees.

A portal opened behind her, and Jaskier could see blue sky and the outer wall of a castle on the other side, mountains in the distance. She waved her fingers at him and stepped through, smiling. Then she was gone, and Geralt collapsed to the muddy ground as her spell fizzled away.

“Geralt,” Jaskier called, softer this time. “Look at me. Geralt.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt grunted, getting to his feet, clutching his stomach and only swaying a little bit. He rolled his neck and worked the kinks out of it. His hair was dripping in gray streaks over his shoulders, and his jaw was ticking with anger. “Are you alright?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, laughing without mirth, “but I think I’ll be okay once I get out of this damn rain and have a drink.”

Geralt staggered over and knelt before him, pulling a dagger from his boot and cutting through the ropes around Jaskier’s wrists. He frowned when he saw the red rings of torn skin where the ropes had cut in, and he covered one wrist with his hand. He looked up at Jaskier, who licked rain off his lips nervously. Lightning flashed, too close.

“I’ll kill her,” Geralt said softly.

“Better leave her to Aretuza’s wrath,” Jaskier suggested gently, though he was still shaking. “You only kill monsters.”

“And what do you think she is?” Geralt countered, cutting the ropes around his ankles. Jaskier hissed when Geralt helped him to his feet, the blood rushing to his legs after being cramped for so long.

“I think,” Jaskier said, sagging against Geralt and borrowing his strength for a moment, “that she’s dangerous and more than a little crazy, and a human.”

He felt Geralt’s hand come up and tentatively cup the back of his head, pressing him into a sort of half-embrace. “No promises.”

Jaskier rested his chin against Geralt’s shoulder and his heart warmed at being allowed so near. “All I want right now is a drink and a warm fire.”

“I need to look inside,” Geralt said as he stepped away and nodded toward the cottage. Without the glamour it looked like a perfectly normal structure, and if he hadn’t known what had gone on in there, Jaskier might have ducked in out of the rain.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to go back in there,” Jaskier muttered as Geralt disappeared inside.

After a minute he came back out again, shaking his head. “She took everything.”

“I assume she left the bloodstains.” Jaskier blinked away the rain from his eyes, shivering.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, his expression grim.

Jaskier could already see that Geralt would be blaming himself for losing her, and he also knew that Geralt would reject any reassurances. “Come on. Let’s get back to the inn. My head is absolutely pounding.”

Geralt nodded, untangling Roach’s reins from the well. Jaskier looked around the clearing, glad that the rain seemed to be lessening. It would have made for an even more miserable walk back. His clothes were nearly soaked through.

He looked up, something bothering him slightly that he couldn’t put a name to, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. There was a bright spot where the sun was trying to break through the heavy gray clouds. “That was an awfully short burst of weather. And lightning? Odd.”

Geralt ran his hands soothingly down Roach’s neck, calming her after all the excitement. “The witch probably summoned it. She’s gone now, and so is the rain.”

He mounted Roach and then held a hand down for Jaskier, who blinked at him, then took the offered hand and swung up behind him. He held on to Geralt’s waist and smiled a little in spite of his headache. The sun peeked through the clouds and dazzled his eyes as the rain ceased completely. The trees dripped around them in a gentle patter like the sound of Roach’s hooves, and Jaskier thought warm thoughts of a fire in the hearth and sweet wine and a soft bed, and felt a tiny bit better, though he couldn’t completely shake the feeling of unease.

~*~

Jaskier stumbled into their room ahead of Geralt, groaning at the sight of the bed. “I know it’s early but I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“How’s your head?” Geralt began removing his armor.

“Feels like Roach trampled on it.” He peeled out of his doublet and pulled off his boots. “I suppose you’ve had a witch in your head a time or two.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt got a fire going in the hearth with a little burst of _Igni_ , and Jaskier gravitated toward it as he pulled the rest of his clothes off. He changed into dry trousers and a shirt, shivering as he huddled closer to the fire. He tried not to watch Geralt stripping out of his wet clothes, but only succeeded in sideways glimpses instead of outright staring. It wasn’t that he’d never seen Geralt’s body before, but every time was like the first time. The reddened light of the setting sun through the window caught on the curve of Geralt’s chest and Jaskier blinked extra hard, forcing himself to turn away.

“Come here,” Geralt said, and Jaskier turned to see him holding a jar of salve in his hand, now fully dressed.

“It’s not that bad,” Jaskier tried to protest.

“Sit,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier sat.

He watched silently while Geralt rubbed salve into the wounds on his wrists, then wrapped them with strips of cloth. His huge hands were gentle, and Jaskier realized he’d been holding his breath for too long, because his heart was pounding. Geralt smoothed a little salve over the shallow scratch on his cheek, his fingertip warm and calloused. “Thanks,” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt pulled his hands back quickly. Jaskier felt a pang at the loss of the touch.

Geralt poured him a cup of wine and he took it gratefully, sipping it and feeling the warmth slowly spread in his belly. They quietly shared the wine, and Jaskier felt grateful that although the witch had escaped, they were both relatively unharmed. Though the sun was beginning to set it really was too early for sleep, at least by Jaskier’s usual standards, but as he became more comfortable he felt his eyelids begin to droop.

“You should sleep,” Geralt said, pouring himself another cup of wine. “A lot happened today.”

“For you as well.” Jaskier recalled Geralt frozen and straining to get loose, Geralt doubled over in pain, collapsing in the mud.

“I’m fine.” At Jaskier’s dubious look Geralt conceded, “I’ve had worse. Much worse.”

“I know, I’ve stitched up your ‘much worse,’ and at least you’re not bleeding this time. I was worried though.”

Geralt looked uncomfortable. “I’m--”

“I swear to the gods, if you say ‘fine’ I’m going to scream at you. You butted heads with a witch, who, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, was not as benevolent as Yennefer. And the best we have to show for it is the fact that we’re alive. It’s alright to admit you had a bad day.” He tossed back the rest of his wine in agitation. 

Geralt looked chastened. “I should have known something was wrong with the cottage. I could feel the magic, I just mistook the source.”

“You were distracted, it happens.”

“I owe you an apology,” Geralt muttered.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Jaskier said firmly, frustrated with both of them.

The room got suddenly darker, and Jaskier glanced out to see if the sun had set, but instead clouds had rolled across the horizon. It struck Jaskier as odd, but then the whole day had been odd.

Geralt was staring out the window with a furrow in his brow. “There’s something we forgot.”

“What’s that?” Jaskier crossed the room to get more wine.

“She said, ‘enjoy your gift.’ What did she mean?”

Jaskier paused with his cup halfway to his mouth. A cold chill slipped down his spine. “I...don’t know. I’d forgotten all about it, I was so preoccupied with getting out of there.”

Outside thunder rumbled quietly. Geralt gave him a pointed look. “Lightning in a bottle, she said.”

“A drop of chaos.” Jaskier slowly looked to the window again. A flash of light startled him, and an immediate clap of thunder shook the room.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said sharply, taking his cup from him and setting it down. “I need you to be calm.”

“Calm?” Jaskier said, his voice rising in pitch. He pointed to the window. “Am I doing that?”

“Take a deep breath.” Geralt’s placating fell on deaf ears.

Jaskier’s heart raced as he ran to the window and watched the lightning strike far too close to the inn. In the street below, townspeople were running for cover. His breath came faster and his eyes widened. “ _You_ take a deep breath, I’m causing a storm. Geralt, how am I causing a _storm_?”

Geralt grabbed his flailing hands and gripped them tightly. “I think it’s your emotions. You need to calm down.”

Jaskier stared at their joined hands, fully panicking. “I can’t calm down. I don’t know how to calm down.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, taking the same tone he used with Roach. “Breathe with me.”

He looked up and Geralt’s eyes were nearer than usual, very gold and very worried. Jaskier took a deep breath when Geralt did, then another, and another. Slowly he brought himself under control and became aware that his hands were wrapped in Geralt’s, that they were sharing the same air. The wind picked up again and began to howl, and Geralt gave the window a worried glance.

“Try again,” he said firmly, and Jaskier dutifully tried.

This time when he felt he had control of his emotions, he pulled away from Geralt as soon as he could. He got some distance between them and felt marginally better, though he clenched his fists on empty air. Geralt watched him carefully.

“I think the storm is passing.” 

Jaskier huffed. “Still raining,” he replied, a sad sort of frustration coming over him.

“No one is in danger of a lightning strike now, at least.”

“Oh, gods,” Jaskier said softly, sitting down on the bed with his head in his hands. “I’m lightning in a bottle.”

Geralt sat down beside him. “We’ll fix it.”

“And until then?”

“Learn to meditate.”

Jaskier laughed a little hysterically. “Do I strike you as the meditating type?”

“Breathe.”

Jaskier breathed.

“Focus on something pleasant. The warmth of the room. The taste of the wine. Don’t think about anything else.”

“The wine isn’t very good.”

“Jaskier.”

The fire was warm and the crackle of the wood was soothing, and Jaskier lost himself in it for a while. He could hear Geralt breathing softly beside him, and his focus shifted. He thought of Geralt’s hands holding his, and a hollow pain threaded its way into his consciousness. The rain fell harder, and Jaskier hung his head in frustration.

“Here,” Geralt said, and took Jaskier’s head in his hands. “It’s hard to focus when you’re in pain.”

Jaskier looked up into Geralt’s eyes, startled, then shut his own eyes tightly for fear of showing too much. Geralt rubbed Jaskier’s temples and the nape of his neck in soft circles, easing the tight muscles there. It felt like he was pulling the pain out of Jaskier’s head with his sword-calloused fingers, and despite the desire to lean in and seek out Geralt’s mouth with his own, Jaskier felt calmer. He kept his eyes closed and breathed. Geralt was an anchor, and Jaskier tethered himself.

“Hmm. Better,” Geralt murmured, his voice setting butterflies into flight in Jaskier’s belly.

Outside the rain had quieted to a gentle patter on the window glass, and Jaskier carefully thought very neutral thoughts as Geralt withdrew his hands. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“Are you hungry? I could bring up some food.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m too tired to eat.”

“Then lie down,” Geralt said, gesturing to the bed, and Jaskier obeyed. “Get some sleep. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow."

Jaskier burrowed into the blankets and Geralt tugged them up over his shoulder. A moment later Jaskier sat up again, unsettled. “What about my dreams? You know I have bad nights. What if I bring the storm and don’t realize it?”

“I’ll be here. I’ll wake you if that happens.”

The pain in Jaskier’s head had receded to a muffled ache, thanks to Geralt, and exhaustion began to drag him under. His eyes drifted closed while Geralt quietly moved around the room. He heard a gentle clink of glass and opened his eyes long enough to see Geralt seated at the little table in the corner, sorting through his supplies. He fell asleep listening to him, picturing his large, rough fingers on delicate potion bottles, infinitely gentle.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

Jaskier woke to the pale sunlight of early morning, not a cloud in sight when he glanced to the window, and he sighed with relief. He registered a dull ache in his head, but it was manageable. 

What was less manageable was turning over to see Geralt watching him quietly from just a few inches away. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his heart rate down as he met Geralt's eyes, golden and soft. His white hair was rumpled on the pillow, and his hands rested between them.

"No bad dreams," Geralt murmured, his voice a gentle rumble.

Jaskier shook his head. "I don't remember dreaming at all."

“You dreamed, but there weren’t any storms.”

“Did you watch me all night?” Jaskier’s stomach swooped at the thought.

“Not the whole night, no.”

“Well, that’s kind of you, if a touch unnerving.” He chewed his lip in embarrassment. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I meditated a little.”

“Okay.” Jaskier fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “What do I look like when I’m dreaming?”

Geralt’s mouth twitched and his eyes crinkled a little. “Sometimes you smiled, sometimes you hummed.”

“I hummed? Like, a song?”

“I didn’t recognize it, but it was...nice.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “Finally he compliments my talents, and I was asleep for the whole performance.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and got out of bed. Jaskier immediately tipped forward into the space he’d left, as though Geralt had his own gravity that tugged at him. He steadied himself with a hand on the bed, and he could feel the lingering warmth from Geralt’s body.

He watched Geralt pull his leather breeches over his smallclothes and lamented the loss of the view of his thick thighs. He knew he shouldn’t be looking anyway, and turned his gaze to the window instead. It was still clear and blue, and he wondered if perhaps whatever the witch had cursed him with had worn off in the night. It occurred to him that he would be able to easily test the theory if he let his control slip, just for a moment, but he couldn’t do it. He was calm, he would try to stay that way.

“I’ll get us some breakfast,” Geralt said, tugging his boots on and heading downstairs.

Jaskier blew out a sigh and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He focused on the grain of the worn floorboards under his feet, thinking of the witch. She’d so easily picked apart his mind, and more than that, she had slipped the tendrils of her magic into his heart and ripped everything up to the surface. She’d seen all his dreams, his aspirations and plans, his mistakes and his fears. The deepest secret he carried.

Ten years he’d kept it close, and would keep it another ten, and ten after that. As long as his feet could follow Geralt’s, he would push it down until it became just background noise, just a gentle drumming underneath the melody.

His love was nothing to the witch, a joke to smirk at, a weakness to unravel, but it was everything to Jaskier. He’d do all that was in his power to numb his heart until they could find a way to lift the curse. He would just have to be ruthless with his own emotions, and lie about the reason if he lost control. Even as he told himself that, though, he doubted his own ability.

Geralt returned with two bowls of porridge as Jaskier was finishing getting dressed. “Simple fare here. The cook slipped some honey in when I told her you were feeling poorly.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and dug into his breakfast, which was quite good. It warmed his belly and soothed the vague anxiety that was growing despite his determination to be calm. “Have you thought of a plan? Should we try to track her down somehow?”

Geralt set his empty bowl aside and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I saw a castle through her portal. Perhaps someone would recognize it if I described it.”

“Maybe, but it could be anywhere. I think our best chance is to find another sorceress to help.”

Jaskier slowly lowered his spoon. “No. Please.”

“Look, I know you have some...feelings about her, but she’s the one I trust the most to help.”

“Feelings. Yes, I do have _feelings_ about the sorceress who saved my life and then threatened to castrate me. She brought an entire house down on you. Not to mention--” He broke off awkwardly.

Geralt blinked. “Mention what?”

Jaskier bit back the words he’d almost let out. “I said not to mention it.”

“You mentioned it first.”

All Jaskier could see in his mind’s eye was Yennefer riding him on the floor amongst plush pillows and decadent ruin, Geralt’s hips thrusting wildly while Jaskier was still composing a funeral dirge for him with a cracked open heart. And theirs was a cycle that had repeated more times than Jaskier could count, passion and volatility and a sort of obsessive adoration that left them blind to anyone else in the world.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said softly, and pointed to the window, where storm clouds were gathering in the bright blue sky.

“Shit,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his face and taking a deep breath. Slowly the clouds evaporated and Jaskier pasted on a bland expression. “I just don’t like her.”

“You don’t have to like her. You just have to trust her.”

“I don’t trust her either.”

Geralt gave him a stern look. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.” The word fell out of his mouth automatically and Geralt’s expression softened.

“Then let’s find Yennefer.”

Jaskier couldn’t hide his wince at her name, but he sighed and nodded. “Do you have any idea where she is, or is it going to be just as difficult as finding the witch who cursed me?”

Geralt cleared his throat and wouldn’t quite meet Jaskier’s eyes. “She’s about a day’s ride from here.”

Jaskier stared at him. “And you know this how?”

“I heard a rumor about a purple-eyed sorceress selling cures to those who could afford them, set up in some minor lord’s summer home. How many purple-eyed sorceresses could there be?”

“Thank the gods there’s only one,” he muttered under his breath, not caring if Geralt heard him. He changed into a new set of clothes, tugged on his boots, and collected yesterday’s clothes from where they had been drying near the fireplace. He folded them and shoved them into his bags. “Ready,” he announced, hefting up his bag onto his shoulder and looking at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt just stood there for a moment, watching him, then seemed to shake himself out of his intense focus and gathered his own things. “I’ll have to go see the alderman, tell him we lost her.”

“It’s too bad that we won’t be getting paid, we could have used the coin.”

“It’s too bad we can’t tell the families of those she killed that we stopped her from killing anyone else.”

Jaskier chewed on his lip. “That too, of course.”

At Geralt’s insistence Jaskier waited outside the alderman’s house with Roach while Geralt explained what had happened. It would go poorly if Jaskier got upset over the contract and the way the alderman would no doubt react. When Geralt returned it was clear as day on his face that it hadn’t gone well.

“It’s good that we’re leaving anyway,” he said calmly. “We’ve been ordered out of town.”

“Well, that’s just,” Jaskier said huffily. “I mean, at least she’s not here anymore. These people have nothing more to fear.”

“And that won’t matter one bit to the grieving families, since she can’t be held accountable.”

Jaskier sighed. “We’ll find her. Someday, we’ll find her.”

Geralt just hummed and took Roach’s reins from him.

~*~

Roach was lively as they left the town behind, stamping her feet in eagerness to be on the road. Jaskier struggled to keep up with her pace, despite Geralt attempting to slow her.

“It’s okay, just wait for me down the road. I’ll catch up,” Jaskier said, slightly out of breath.

Geralt took a firmer hand with her and she settled, though by the way she champed at the bit she wasn’t happy about it. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Jaskier’s heart warmed and he matched his stride to Roach’s as best he could. “I know you wouldn’t.”

They walked for a few hours before Jaskier asked for a break, having pushed himself to the limit in his eagerness to reach their destination. He did his best to focus on the cure rather than the person who would hopefully be providing the cure.

They shared a meal of hard cheese and slightly stale bread, not as filling as Jaskier would have liked but Geralt promised to hunt after they stopped for the night.

“How are you?” Geralt asked as he fed Roach a carrot. Jaskier was a little surprised to be asked; Geralt had never been one for solicitousness, even if Jaskier was injured. He generally showed his concern with wordless assistance instead.

“Blue skies so far,” Jaskier responded, gesturing needlessly at the sky.

Geralt glanced up and then looked at Jaskier carefully. 

Jaskier felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny, and sighed. “As long as I don’t think about anything at all, I’ll be fine.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard for you,” Geralt said dryly, and Jaskier shot him a dirty look.

“The mind of a poet is never silent.”

“Neither is the mouth of one.”

Jaskier bristled and started working himself up to a scathing retort, when he noticed Geralt’s lips twitching. He settled for crossing his arms and glaring.

“This will be over soon. We’ll camp tonight near the town, and then continue on tomorrow until we locate Yennefer. Then your mind can be as loud as it wants.” He gave Jaskier a surprisingly kind glance, and Jaskier couldn’t help but smile a little.

When they set out on the road again, Jaskier pulled his lute over his shoulder and began to play idly as he walked. He lost himself in the music, as he usually did, playing some older songs that didn’t require any focus. Geralt didn’t say anything, apparently willing to indulge Jaskier just this once. Mitigating circumstances and all that.

Everything was fine until Jaskier shifted unthinkingly into a love ballad he’d written years ago during a particularly melancholy phase while being separated from Geralt for the winter. He barely recognized the familiar tug on his heart until Geralt called his name. He broke off the song and looked up to see slowly gathering clouds. He sighed and put his lute away.

“Come here,” Geralt said after a few minutes, holding down a hand to Jaskier. He would never decline an opportunity to ride, so he settled himself behind Geralt and rested his hands on Geralt’s hips for balance. He fought the urge to tighten his fingers, to dig in and feel the warmth of Geralt’s body through the worn leather of his breeches.

“I thought you weren’t going to think of anything,” Geralt grunted softly.

“My mind wandered.”

“I suppose it always comes back around to love, with you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he was glad that Geralt couldn’t see the sudden flush of his cheeks. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he finally just said, “I think that’s true for most people.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier would have paid actual money to know what that particular hum meant, but his courage failed him and he didn’t ask. He did his best to bring his heart back to neutral territory, but then a breeze tossed Geralt’s white hair against Jaskier’s cheek and he shuddered, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and sweat, not unpleasant. He bit his lip and his hands tightened automatically, grasping for more.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice strangled, loosening his hold on Geralt’s hips.

“Breathe,” Geralt said softly, and Jaskier listened to the distant thunder and groaned.

Geralt slipped his hand over Jaskier’s on his hip, holding it there in a way that was probably supposed to be soothing, but had the opposite effect on Jaskier’s heart rate.

He took a deep breath, then another, still overwhelmed by Geralt’s scent and the feel of his hand. “Not working,” he said, shaking with desire and frustration. He should pull his hand away, he knew. The thunder rumbled closer and Jaskier leaned around his sword scabbards, resting his forehead against the back of Geralt’s shoulder, uncaring what message it might send.

“Pick one thing to focus on,” Geralt rumbled, pulling Roach to a stop and squeezing Jaskier’s hand. “Just one thing. Get lost in it. Let it fill every part of your mind. Breathe.”

Jaskier sighed and did his best. Geralt’s scent was already all he could think of, so he allowed himself to focus on that, dangerous as it was. He let it into his heart, soothing his agitation and blanketing every other sense. He found he could breathe again once he gave himself permission, and slowly he calmed. The light misty rain that had begun to fall disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“What did you focus on?”

“Scent,” Jaskier whispered, and refused to elaborate when Geralt asked him about it. Roach started walking again and Geralt took his hand away. Jaskier told himself that it was for the best.

~*~

After a satisfying supper of rabbit and dried fruit, Jaskier and Geralt sat by the fire, their backs against a fallen tree. The air was cool, but the fire crackled nicely and warmed Jaskier’s booted feet as they passed a skin of wine back and forth.

“Better?” Geralt asked, handing the wine back.

Jaskier took a drink and licked his lips. His head was pleasantly foggy and his heart was warm. “Yes,” he answered, smiling a little. “Good wine, good supper. Good company.”

Geralt snorted. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being good company.”

“Of course you’re good company, Geralt. Why do you think I’ve followed you all these years?”

“I have no idea,” Geralt answered, cocking his head slightly when Jaskier made the mistake of glancing at him.

“Well...” Jaskier sorted through various replies, searching for one that would satisfy Geralt without betraying too much. “You’re a much more worthy person than you give yourself credit for. I wouldn’t follow just anyone to the edge of the world.”

Geralt’s eyes shone like coins in the firelight, unblinking. “You’ve never had much taste or judgment when it comes to people, so forgive me if I take what you say with a grain of salt.”

That stung unexpectedly, and Jaskier drew back a little, turning to look at the fire. Geralt took the wine back. Jaskier clenched his hands, focusing on the bite of his own nails into his palms. “Still. I stand by what I said.”

After a minute Geralt took his hand, making him relax the grip of his fingers. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean that.”

Jaskier looked down at their joined hands. “Yes, you did.”

The wind picked up, swirling across the fire with a billow of sparks in the darkness. Jaskier pulled his hand away and pressed his palms to his eyes. The air suddenly felt sharp, charged, preceding the snap of lightning. Jaskier felt his chest tighten and knew with a moment of horror that tears were on the way.

“I can’t let it storm, we have no shelter,” he moaned in dismay.

“Try focusing on what you used before, on the road,” Geralt said, his voice low and soothing.

Jaskier shook his head helplessly. “Won’t work this time.”

Geralt sighed and rested his arm over Jaskier’s shoulders, tugging him closer. Jaskier, just a little bit dizzy with wine, tipped against his chest. As embraces went it was awkward, but Jaskier could tell that Geralt was doing his best. This close he couldn’t help but seek out Geralt’s scent, but it disappeared into the wind. Jaskier kept his eyes down, afraid to look up into Geralt’s, knowing the most secret parts of himself were too close to the surface to hide. His heart ached, and for just a moment he rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder, turning his face against his neck. Geralt’s hand came up to gently touch his cheek. Leaves whipped past them, the storm building.

“I need to--” Jaskier wrenched himself away and scrambled to his feet. He stumbled, his legs as shaky as a newborn colt’s, and he headed for the darkness of the forest.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, getting to his feet and reaching for him.

“Don’t touch me,” he gasped, moving beyond the reach of Geralt’s hand.

He walked until he could barely see the light of the campfire anymore, tripping over roots and ducking under branches until he found the wide trunk of a tree against his hands, and he stopped. He leaned against the tree and despaired when the first drops of rain filtered through the branches overhead.

“ _Godsdamnit_ ,” he yelled into the storm, punching the rough bark of the tree and focusing every part of himself on the pain. It was only a little drop of chaos, he told himself. He was surely stronger than that.

After the storm had quieted and the wind had calmed, Jaskier made his way back to the fire. Geralt was pacing back and forth, then stopped and watched him carefully once he saw him. Jaskier saw Geralt’s gaze drop to his bloodied knuckles.

Geralt swore under his breath and dug through his saddlebags until he found the salve and linen strips, his movements angry. He gestured for Jaskier to come closer and Jaskier shook his head.

“I’ll do it,” he said firmly, taking the supplies from him.

He wrapped his aching knuckles and flexed his hand, determining that he hadn’t done real damage. It was only then that he thought of his lute and his livelihood, and mentally kicked himself for being so reckless.

“I really am sorry,” Geralt muttered, staring at his boots.

“I know. It’s okay.” Jaskier found the skin of wine and drained it, letting it warm his chest. “The witch just pulled everything in my heart to the surface. I don’t have much control over how I feel.”

He tossed out his bedroll out next to the fire and sat, pulling off his boots and settling down. After a minute Geralt did the same, placing his bedroll close beside Jaskier’s. “In case of nightmares,” Geralt explained when Jaskier gave him a quizzical look. Jaskier turned away from him and faced the fire.

“What secret?” Geralt’s voice was quiet but it seemed to echo in Jaskier’s ears.

His eyes flew open and he stared at the fire. “I beg your pardon?”

“The witch said you were hiding a secret.”

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be secret.”

“Jaskier. You can talk to me. I won’t judge you.”

Jaskier closed his eyes tightly. “Please don’t ask me unless you want our campsite to be struck by lightning.”

Geralt was quiet for a long time. Jaskier felt his hand rest on his shoulder for a moment, and cursed the witch and whatever gods were listening that Geralt would choose now to be free with his touches.

“Yennefer will fix this.”

Jaskier let out a long sigh.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

When Jaskier woke it was to a steel-gray sky, neither raining nor windy, but heavy all the same. Geralt was already moving around the camp when Jaskier sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He stared up at the impenetrable gray. “Did I--?”

Geralt nodded. “I calmed you down.”

“I don’t remember.” His heart felt as flat as the sky.

“I...held your hand until it went away.” Geralt looked uncomfortable and turned to pull food out of his bag.

Jaskier looked down at his empty hands. “Oh.”

Geralt tossed him the last of their bread and an apple, and they ate a quick breakfast in silence. Jaskier stole glances at Geralt, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“What’s the matter? You’re even more taciturn than usual.”

“Nothing at all,” Geralt replied, though it sounded like a lie to Jaskier’s ears. “Just thinking ahead to the day.”

“Ah. Right, _Yennefer_.” He drawled out her name with theatrical dread, though the sentiment was real enough.

Geralt gave him a sharp look and he ducked his head, chastened. Geralt saddled Roach while Jaskier cleaned up their camp, working in practiced motions around each other like well-oiled cogs in a clock. There was comfort in the ritual.

“With luck we’ll find her in the next few hours, and you’ll be able to sulk and scream and laugh as much as you like,” Geralt said neutrally, tying off the last of their bags onto Roach’s saddle. “We’ll ride together. It’s not far to the town.”

Jaskier knew it was such a short amount of time really, that they were lucky to be so close to his possible salvation, but time seemed to slow, and all he could think of was how much longer he’d have to hold it together. All he wanted was to go back to pining in silence and sublimating any wayward emotions that might jeopardize his friendship with Geralt.

Secondary only to his fear of Geralt finding out his true feelings, was Yennefer finding them out. He knew that she’d be able to read him as easily as a book, if she got her fingers in his brain, and given his recent luck with witches it seemed likely that he’d be sharing all of the most intimate parts of himself very soon, and with someone he loathed.

And he absolutely knew that, no matter his self-control, it would only take one moon-eyed look from Geralt in Yennefer’s direction and there would be scorch marks at their feet from a lightning strike.

~*~

It was unsurprisingly easy to locate Yennefer’s latest abode. Geralt and Jaskier stopped at the first tavern they came to and asked after a sorceress with purple eyes, and were immediately directed to a red-bricked villa that overlooked the town. As they approached the hill and the elaborately curved wrought iron gates came into view, Jaskier’s stomach turned sour at the thought of her.

“Awfully convenient that she happens to be so close when we need her. Were we headed for her all along, Geralt? Is that why you knew where she was?”

Geralt grunted and didn’t answer for a while, and Jaskier bit his tongue. It was none of his business. It shouldn’t matter. Finally Geralt just said, “We never seem to be very far from each other.”

Jaskier held his breath until lights danced before his eyes, then he let it out in a steady stream. The sky remained gray and still.

Yennefer met them at the gate in a black dress heavily embroidered with white roses, her hair caught up in an intricate tumble of curls, and a wry smile on her perfect face. “Must you only turn up when you want something?”

“How do you know we--oh right. Magic.” Jaskier didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing.

“Yenn,” Geralt said, his voice softer than usual, “It’s good to see you. And we do need your help.”

They dismounted and she led them toward the stable, indicating it with a graceful sweep of her hand. “I’ll be in the garden when you’re finished. Bard, with me.”

Jaskier followed her to a walled garden next to the main house, exquisitely designed with a winding gravel path and a riotous abundance of flowers, almost certainly tended by magic. She sat on a marble bench under a heavy arch of lush scarlet roses, and after an awkward moment he joined her there. He didn’t explain his situation, as it appeared he didn’t need to.

She stared at him for a while, and her gaze was shrewd, piercing. “I can see it as plain as day. It’s an inventive curse, but one cast in haste. There should be gaps I might pry into, if we’re lucky.”

He felt such a visceral rush of heart-pounding relief that the sky began to darken, and Jaskier covered his face with shaking hands and breathed slowly, focusing on the scent of the roses until the gathering storm clouds dissipated. “I wasn’t built for this kind of thing. Moderation of emotion.”

Yennefer smiled, and it was only a little sarcastic. “I imagine you’ve never had a moderate day in your life, bard. That’s no doubt why this curse was chosen for you.”

Jaskier nodded. “She chose perfectly.”

“How did it happen?” Her voice was dry, unaffected, but her purple eyes glinted with curiosity. “Did you sleep with her? Steal from her? Did you compose a terrible song for her?”

“She killed twelve people and stole their organs to try to create the eternal youth that Aretuza denied her.”

Yennefer blinked.

“We tried to stop her. She cursed Jaskier and portalled away,” Geralt said, joining them and standing at Jaskier’s side. He briefly touched Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier shivered. A flicker of her shadowed eyelids told him that it hadn’t escaped Yennefer’s notice.

“Why Jaskier, of all people?” She spoke to Geralt as though Jaskier wasn’t even there.

Jaskier frowned at her. “So I’m not worthy of even a curse, now?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt didn’t sound amused, but Yennefer laughed.

“Only you, bard, would take that as an insult.”

“She thought he was feisty, and she looked inside his mind. She said he was hiding secrets, called him ‘lightning in a bottle.’”

Jaskier swivelled to look up at Geralt. “Can I tell my own story, please?”

Yennefer tilted her head. “What was her name?”

“Theda.”

Her face did a complicated thing that Jaskier couldn’t quite read. Her hands twitched in her lap, just enough to catch Jaskier’s attention.

“You know her?” Geralt asked, stepping close enough to brush Jaskier’s arm where he sat. He couldn’t help but lean ever so slightly against Geralt’s warmth, a nearly imperceptible touch.

“I know _of_ her,” Yennefer clarified. “She came long after my time at Aretuza, but there have been rumors. As I heard it, she was the first of her class to catch lightning in a bottle and the first to master alchemical creation. She also cursed two of her classmates who looked as though they might surpass her in power, and one of them died. She was denied final transformation and expelled.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Seems like the wrong tactic to take with someone who is powerful and crazy.”

Yennefer smiled wryly. “I’ll be the first to tell you that not everything that occurs within Aretuza’s hallowed halls is right, or fair.”

“Yenn, can you help?” Geralt’s tone was soft with her, always, and it made Jaskier’s chest tighten painfully. He found his gaze drawn to Yennefer’s, and he was curiously able to bring himself under control before even a breath of wind could disturb them. Yennefer nodded slightly, approving, knowing.

“I can try,” she answered, looking up at Geralt. “I’ll need to examine him first.”

“Whatever you need,” Jaskier said, getting quickly to his feet. Geralt’s hand was briefly at his back, steadying him. “Point the way.”

Yennefer led them through the villa, past servants who bobbed in deference while she breezed by without notice. It was a beautiful place, and everywhere were Yennefer’s touches of decadence. Rich colors and luxurious textures everywhere lent an air of sensuality that made Jaskier both intrigued and slightly nervous. He expected to see an orgy in every room they passed, but the villa seemed to be occupied only by Yennefer and the servants.

“Where is the gentleman of the house?” Jaskier asked archly.

“Oh, he doesn’t live here,” Yennefer said with a wave of her hand. “This is for my personal use. His wife prefers it that way. As do I.”

“You’re using him to get his house?”

“He’s more than happy to be used, trust me.”

Jaskier stole a glance at Geralt, whose face was as impassive as ever.

They followed her to a richly furnished library with tall windows that overlooked the gardens. The room now clearly served as Yennefer’s workshop. A large table held glass jars of mysterious concoctions, fragrant powders in bowls, stones that glittered. Books with tattered pages lay strewn about beside quills and ink pots and dried bundles of herbs. It was nothing at all like Jaskier would have imagined, had he given any thought to such a thing.

“How do you find anything here?” he asked, poking at a large crystal. Yennefer glared and slapped his hand.

“I have a system,” she said. “No one has had any complaints about my quality of service.”

“And what service do you provide, exactly?”

“The service of curing rude bards of their unfortunate curses, out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You have one of those?”

“ _Jaskier._ ” Geralt pinned him with a quelling look.

Jaskier bit his lip and tried to look innocent.

“I think we could all do with some wine first, don’t you?” Yennefer’s voice was richly amused, and when Jaskier turned to look at her she just raised an eyebrow.

“I could drink,” Jaskier replied.

Geralt shrugged.

“And for the gods’ sake, Geralt, take off your swords. You’ll find no harpies here.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, and then closed it again when Geralt pointed a finger at him.

~*~

Two glasses of wine later Jaskier found himself collapsed sideways on a reclining couch beneath the tall windows, his head on a cushion and his wine glass dangling over the edge. He blamed his sudden weakness on sleeping poorly the night before, but it was possible that Yennefer had slipped something into his wine. He wouldn’t put it past her. Geralt was seated in a wingback chair with his own glass of wine, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Yennefer was at her table flipping through a book that looked at least as old as she probably was.

Jaskier drained his glass in defiance of his possible poisoning, and watched Geralt, who was watching him back. “What?” he asked finally. “Did I spill wine on myself?”

Geralt’s lips did a thing that almost looked like a smile. He shook his head.

“Your clothes may be free of wine but they are full of dust and sweat and who knows what else. You’re both bathing before you even think of sleeping here.” She didn’t bother to look up at either of them.

Jaskier felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and Geralt looked at the floor.

“Alright,” Yennefer said finally, closing her book and setting aside a chunk of citrine she had been idly playing with while she read. She came around her table and strode purposefully toward him. “I need a peek inside your head, bard.”

He had known it was coming, but it still filled him with dread. “There’s really no other way, is there?”

Yennefer’s gaze softened minutely. “Not if you want me to understand the curse.”

Jaskier set down his glass and started to sit up, but she forestalled him with a hand on his shoulder. She urged him to lie on his back on the couch just as he had been, and she sat down beside his hip.

“This should hurt far less now that you’ve relaxed a bit.”

“Of all the things I never wanted to hear from Yennefer of Vengerberg…” It wasn’t his wittiest response, but he was nervous, and it made Yennefer purse her lips almost fondly. Geralt didn’t say a word.

“If you’re quite finished,” she said, and reached for Jaskier’s head. He caught her wrist in a reaction that startled both of them.

“Can we do this without--without an audience?” he asked carefully, and before Yennefer could even open her mouth Jaskier heard the quick, heavy tread of Geralt’s boots and the closing of the door.

“Well, that was...odd. Then again, it is Geralt,” Yennefer said, staring at the door.

Jaskier swallowed hard. “I’m ready, so do your worst. Well, actually, please don’t. You know what I mean.”

Yennefer hesitated. “I don’t know what it was like when Theda did it, but I’ll certainly see things you don’t wish me to see. If I could look away, I would, believe me. I have no desire to see your intimate exploits with barmaids any more than you wish to show them to me, I’m sure.”

“We’ll just have to agree not to say anything about it, then.” It was a vain hope, he knew.

“Hmm,” she said, sounding like Geralt, then her cool fingers were pressed to his temples and she was inside his head like a thousand radiating silver threads of a spiderweb. It wasn’t agony like before, but it still felt invasive and he shrank from it as the threads caught and tugged on pieces of himself he’d rather keep hidden.

“Jaskier,” he heard her say from a long distance, “relax. Breathe deeply.”

His body breathed for him at her insistence, but his mind still struggled in her web. Dimly he heard the sound of rain and the howl of wind.

“Let go of it, Jaskier. I need to see it.”

He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, could hear the rain on the window, and he let her see.

After Yennefer removed her fingertips from his skin they sat quietly for a minute while the storm raged outside. There were many emotions on her face, half turned away from him, but surprise wasn’t one of them. Jaskier wiped the tears from his cheeks and sat up, hearing a banging sound. Yennefer moved gracefully to the door and opened it for Geralt, who looked worried to the point of anger.

“What happened?” he growled, striding over to Jaskier, who looked away.

“It was difficult to see how interwoven the curse is with his mind,” Yennefer said briskly. “I had to follow some of the paths that Theda took.”

“Can you not see what I see out there?” Geralt demanded as he pointed to the window, and there was nothing soft about his voice now. “That’s what he feels right now.”

“Calm him, then. I have no talent for such things.” She retreated behind her desk and picked up her crystal again, turning it over and over in her hands.

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Jaskier, look at me.”

He looked into Geralt’s frustrated golden eyes and lightning flashed outside. Thunder rattled the glass panes and Jaskier whimpered. Geralt tipped their foreheads together and his breath washed warm across Jaskier’s cheek.

“Focus,” he said, and Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand, focusing on the strong grip, the callouses, the scarred knuckles. In the midst of his torment he forgot to be afraid, and there were no more flashes of light, no more thunder. The wind died down and the rain fell softly against the glass.

When even the rain was gone Jaskier stepped away, releasing Geralt’s hand. Oddly, Geralt looked just as bereft as Jaskier felt. Yennefer cleared her throat and Jaskier jumped guiltily.

“Well, I’m afraid the garden may not recover,” she said drily, but her gaze was on Jaskier and not the garden.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he muttered, and looked out at the slate-gray sky. No sunlight tried to shine through this time.

“I can’t break this curse.”

Her words were followed by silence. Outside, water dripped from the top of the window frame to the bottom, a slow and steady metronome.

Jaskier went to the side table to refill his wine glass and no one stopped him.

“If not you, then who?” Geralt sounded bewildered, something that Jaskier couldn’t recall Geralt being before. It said a lot about his unshakeable faith in her.

Yennefer’s mouth twisted. “Theda.”

“Bollocks,” Jaskier whispered, then sighed.

“She may have cursed you in haste, but it was far more seamless than I had expected.”

“Meaning?” Jaskier took a healthy swallow of wine and it burned in the back of his throat.

“Meaning there are no places to dig in my fingers, so to speak, without ripping out parts of you altogether.” She rolled her crystal from one hand to the other, her rings clicking on the stone. “Which I can do, if you wish. But you’ll never get those pieces back.”

“No. We’ll find her, we’ll do whatever it takes,” Geralt vowed, and Jaskier looked at him, startled, then nodded.

“I’d rather keep all the parts of myself intact, thank you. For better or for worse, they are mine.” 

Yennefer shrugged. “Then your only option is to find Theda and get her to remove the curse.”

“But how are we supposed to do that?” Jaskier threw his arms wide, encompassing the whole of the rain-drenched countryside out the window. “And how many times will I put people in danger as we search? One of these storms might turn into something deadly. They’re getting harder to stop.”

“What about the castle you saw through the portal?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier paused, remembering.

“Describe it to me,” Yennefer said, curious.

Jaskier recalled every detail he could, down to the crumbling outer wall and the town at the base of the hill, a glittering lake beyond, a mountain with three peaks in the distance. Yennefer smiled triumphantly when he was finished.

“I’ve been there,” she said, turning to sift through the chaos that was her work table. “Very interesting little place. I spent a month there selling charms, and no one tried to extort me. They’re very tolerant of magic wielders, which is likely why she chose to go there. I imagine she thought she could hide in plain sight for some time.”

Geralt let out a relieved sigh, and Jaskier darted a glance at him. Jaskier was also obviously relieved, but he was surprised to hear Geralt express it.

“Can you take us there?” Jaskier entreated, watching Yennefer shuffle aside papers with a slight frown. “And what are you looking for?”

“I can open a portal for you.” She peered inside a small chest and nodded to herself. “As to what I’m looking for, I’ll explain tomorrow. Tonight you’ll stay here.”

Jaskier shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sure if you just open the portal now, we could--”

“It’s nearly sundown,” she pointed out. “And you won’t find her at night. You can rest here, we have plenty of rooms. And bathtubs.”

Geralt hummed and nodded. “Thank you. We’ll do better after a good night of sleep.”

Jaskier bit his tongue and looked away from both of them.

~*~

After a brief and awkwardly tense dinner, in which no one said much of import and they each seemed to be dancing around something unspoken, Yennefer escorted them to the guest rooms. Jaskier’s room was pointed out first. He watched Geralt walk down the hall beside Yennefer and had to swallow around the lump in his throat. He had to take several deep breaths before he could look away.

The room Jaskier had been offered was more than adequate, with a spacious bed that looked decadently soft, and a bathing area separated from the main room by a partition. Servants brought in buckets of hot water while Jaskier pulled out his clothes from his bag. He had nothing clean to change into, besides spare smallclothes.

“I’m instructed to take your clothes for washing,” a maid said, appearing at his elbow. She watched while he undressed unselfconsciously, and gave him a slow, sideways smile as she took the pile of clothes from him. Jaskier understood her meaning well enough. He thought for a moment about indulging himself, though it would be a poor substitute for the pleasure he longed for. In the end he just returned her smile with an apologetic expression and a little shake of his head.

He wandered to the window to watch the sky while the servants finished filling the bathtub, making sure that the weather remained stable in spite of the jealousy roiling in his gut. He didn’t know for sure where Geralt was spending the night, but he had a pretty good guess. He only hoped they were on the far side of the villa so he wouldn’t have to hear them.

Before he stepped into the bath Jaskier removed the bandages on his hands. Geralt’s salve had done quick work, and the rings on his wrists were nearly healed, leaving faint red lines. His knuckles were still a little raw where he had punched the tree, and he felt ashamed of himself and his lack of control. He wondered if there would be scars.

Jaskier sank into the water and sighed, letting the heat pull the tension out of his shoulders. He washed slowly with the lavender soap that had been provided, grateful for the luxury of a bathtub he could easily fit in and the collection of oils and salts on a little shelf within reach. It had been many, many months since he’d had such a pleasure.

Soon, however, his thoughts came back around to Yennefer and Geralt, and he felt a rising tension that was both bitter jealousy and hot desire. Not for Yennefer, though she was beautiful enough, but for imagining Geralt in a decadent bed like the one in his own room, silk sheets and a velvet counterpane in rich jewel tones that would complement Geralt’s pale skin. 

Jaskier felt his cock begin to fill and he snuck his hand around it, slipping in the warm water. He thought of Geralt’s pleasure soaked sighs, which he had heard through the fabric of tents and the thin walls of rented rooms. It was impossible to know a man for a decade and not hear such things. He knew that Geralt was not a vocal lover, no more so than he was in conversation, but his shuddering sighs were more than enough to fuel Jaskier’s fantasies.

He groaned quietly, squeezing his cock harder and lifting his hips into the sensation. He imagined Geralt’s hand on him, larger and more calloused, rougher than Jaskier was used to, and he trembled enough to splash water up the sides of the tub. He opened his eyes, startled, and happened to look at the window as he reoriented himself.

Lightning flashed in the distance, and the branches of the tree outside his window waved in the wind. Jaskier cried out in dismay and yanked his hand away from his cock, taking heaving breaths and gripping the sides of the bathtub until his knuckles cracked.

There was a knock on the door and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut. “A moment, please,” he called, trying to make his voice as even and calm as possible.

He dried himself quickly and put on the only thing he had to wear, his smallclothes, and went to the door. He was shocked to see Geralt in the doorway, a concerned look on his face.

“I…” Geralt began, looking at Jaskier’s bare chest and then up at his face. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jaskier said stiffly, glad that his cock had softened at least, though the tension that coiled through him still remained. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I think.”

Geralt looked over his shoulder to the window, and Jaskier glanced at it too. The storm had continued to brew, the tree now lashing at the glass. “Do you need my help?”

Jaskier bit his lip and shook his head. “Best not, I think,” he said, but was unable to offer any further explanation when Geralt tilted his head in confusion.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Geralt said slowly, turning away.

He hadn’t made it five paces before Jaskier called out, “Geralt. Would you?”

Geralt came back and nodded, relief clear in his eyes. “What do you need?”

_You. Always you._

The lines were blurring, his desires confusing, but still he held out his hand. Geralt didn’t hesitate to take it, and Jaskier closed his eyes. His heartbeat kicked hard in his chest, but as he forced himself to breathe he heard Geralt doing the same, giving him a slow rhythm to try to match. Geralt’s hand squeezed his and he returned the gesture, and eventually he calmed.

“Good,” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier opened his eyes. The wind had died down again, and the storm was dissipating. He took a deep breath and tried on a relieved smile.

“Thank you, Geralt,” he said, and Geralt nodded.

“I can stay.”

“Stay?” Jaskier asked, slow to understand.

“If you want. For the dreams.” He looked earnest and serious, and Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

“And what of Yennefer? Won’t she be waiting for you?”

Geralt frowned. “Yenn is in her room, I suspect. I have my own.”

Jaskier stared, still uncomprehending.

“She’s not waiting for me,” Geralt clarified.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, and then without fully appreciating the consequences he stepped aside and let Geralt in. It was only then that he noticed Geralt was only wearing his smallclothes and a clean shirt that clung to his damp skin, and his hair was still wet from his bath.

“You’ve let your hair tangle again,” Jaskier said, smiling in spite of everything. “Come here.”

Geralt followed him silently to the bathing area and sat on a stool there for Jaskier to comb out the tangles for him. It was a time-honored tradition, platonic yet intimate, that always soothed Jaskier’s heart. He might not be allowed to touch anything else, but he could do this for Geralt. He could take this small pleasure for himself and hold it close.

Once finished, he set the comb aside and ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, checking for tangles, and Geralt leaned into the touch with a little hum. Gently, Jaskier removed his hands and backed away. He busied himself with stoking the fire in the hearth until it was high enough to warm the room again, then looked back.

Geralt had climbed into bed, carefully occupying no more than his share of the bed despite his muscular bulk. The sight of him against midnight blue silk sheets made Jaskier’s mouth water and his belly tighten. Geralt’s white hair spilled across the pillow like moonlight, Jaskier’s poetic heart noted, and he cursed himself for his foolishness. 

Jaskier slid in beside him and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Beneath the bedclothes, Geralt’s hand tentatively tucked Jaskier’s into a loose grip, reassuring and solid. Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed. He wanted, and wanted, and wanted, but it was nothing new. He’d lived with this for years, he reminded himself, and he’d live with it for years to come. He must.

His fingertips rested on the pulse in Geralt’s wrist, and he fell asleep counting the slow beats.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

Jaskier had rolled into Geralt’s space in the night, of course he had, because luck was not with him lately. It wasn’t the first time it had happened in the history of bedsharing with Geralt over the years, but it was the first time Jaskier had buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, breathing in the clean, sleep-warm scent of him and, and tucked his body in like he belonged there. His hand rested over Geralt’s medallion on his chest. His foot was hooked over Geralt’s muscular calf.

Slowly and carefully he rolled away, knowing that Geralt was awake with his eyes closed, hoping they could both just pretend it hadn’t happened. He stretched and looked out the window at a clear dawn, sighing in relief.

“I, ah, Geralt. If I dreamed--” he said, remembering half-shrouded wisps of longing, glints of golden eyes, and Geralt gave up the pretense of sleep.

“You did,” he murmured, and nothing more was said about it.

Their clean clothes had been laid outside Jaskier’s door, and it made his cheeks flush to realize that everyone knew Geralt had slept there. They both dressed in silence, but the atmosphere wasn’t as awkward as he’d expected it to be. Yennefer summoned them for breakfast out on the garden terrace, and her gaze was inscrutable as she looked them over.

“I hope you’re well rested,” she said neutrally, elegantly spooning some raspberry compote onto her toast.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier managed to respond, since it was true, and felt a truly odd urge to explain that nothing had happened between himself and Geralt. He ate a wedge of an orange instead.

“I won’t be joining you,” Yennefer explained after she had pushed her plate away. “I refuse to entangle myself in Aretuza’s business again. I’ll portal you to where you last saw her, and it will be up to you to catch her.”

“And how are we expected to do that?” Jaskier asked. “She could be anywhere by now. There’s nothing that says she stayed there.”

“You’re monster hunters,” Yennefer said, turning to stare unblinking at Geralt. “So hunt.”

Geralt nodded, seemingly at ease. Jaskier didn’t feel nearly as confident.

“What are we to do when we find her? Geralt’s magic might not be enough to subdue her.”

Yennefer indicated a pouch on the table. Geralt opened it and pulled out two slender cuffs linked by a chain. “Those are dimeritium, to use once you catch her. That will constrain her magic completely. And this,” she said as she slid an object across the table to Jaskier, “is what I was searching for last night. It will alert Aretuza’s rectoress that you need her assistance after you’ve cuffed the witch.”

Jaskier picked up a small sapphire brooch, delicately wrought of silver, and pinned it to his doublet. It glinted darkly against the light blue silk. “How does it work?”

“Simply enough. Just hold it in your hand and say, ‘Tissaia.’ She’ll come to you, though she’ll most likely be expecting to find me on the other end.”

“Are you sure you won’t come?” Geralt asked, and his voice was soft but somehow more distant than usual. Jaskier wondered if they had fought the night before, prior to Geralt coming to his room.

“I’ve washed my hands of all the politics. I’ll help you because it’s you.” Her violet eyes held a wealth of memories, and an uncharacteristic sadness.

Jaskier looked at the sky, expecting lightning, but there was just a swirling breeze.

As they left the table Yennefer stopped Jaskier with a touch to his sleeve. “Walk with me,” she said, and it didn’t leave room for refusal. “Geralt, wait for us in the library.”

They walked slowly through the garden, where dew still clung to the petals of flowers and the soil was still dark from rain. Yennefer stopped beside a bed of yellow buttercups and leaned over to trail her fingers over their tops.

“You should tell him,” she said gently, not looking at Jaskier. She shaded her eyes in the morning light and watched the sky, which was grayer than it had been before. Clouds formed and rolled over the sun, and she dropped her hand.

“I should not,” Jaskier replied, a tremble in his voice. “I’d rather keep silent than risk losing him.”

“You should tell him.”

“He’s my whole life,” he said, spreading his arms in distress. The air crackled, static snapping at their hair. “I’ve given it to him, with no expectation of more in return than what he already gives me. And he won’t give me more, that’s clear to me after all these years. And it’s fine! It’s fine. He doesn’t feel that way. He calls me his friend, and do you know how many years went by before he could do that? That’s a gift. It’s enough.”

Lightning flashed jaggedly across the darkening sky. Jaskier looked helplessly at Yennefer, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Wind tossed the black cloud of her hair.

“You should tell him,” she said, and walked away. Jaskier stood in the garden until the sky cleared, and all he could hear was his own thundering heartbeat.

~*~

After gathering their belongings they met Yennefer in the main courtyard. Geralt brought Roach from the stable, tacked up and ready to go, and he spoke softly to her before placing his hand above her forehead and forming a sign. She nudged him calmly with her nose.

“What did you do?” Jaskier asked, slightly alarmed.

“Just Axii. She doesn’t care for portals. It wears off quickly.”

Yennefer stepped forward and placed an oddly hesitant hand on Geralt’s arm. He looked down at her and covered her hand with his. Jaskier felt that he should look away, but was mesmerized by how small she looked at that moment, how very human.

When she turned away she looked straight at Jaskier, and there was a flinty sort of determination in her eyes, almost a challenge. He recalled her words in the garden and bit his lip until it hurt.

“Find her, subdue her, give her to Aretuza,” Yennefer said to both of them, lifting her arms to form the portal.

“And break the curse,” Jaskier reminded her.

“I doubt she’ll do it out of the goodness of her heart,” she replied, “but I’m sure you’ll find a solution somehow. You’re frustratingly tenacious that way.”

“Thank you?”

Yennefer gave him a hint of a smile over her shoulder and opened the portal. There was the castle wall, the town and the lake. Geralt led Roach forward and Jaskier followed them, then the portal spat him out on the other side and he stumbled to his knees on the dirt road, wheezing.

Geralt looked down at him with amusement. “Maybe I should have used Axii on you as well.”

Jaskier glared up at him. “ _Now_ you tell me that was an option?”

“Come on,” Geralt said, offering him a hand up. He pulled him to standing and Jaskier found himself chest to chest with Geralt, close enough to kiss. He couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered down to Geralt’s mouth, but he turned away quickly so he didn’t have to see Geralt’s reaction.

“Well, let’s get to it,” he said, too brightly, glancing at the sky. “Lovely weather we’re having today, don’t you think?”

Geralt smirked and led Roach forward down the road. “Shall we ask at the castle gate if she’s been there?”

“It’s too bad she doesn’t have any memorable features,” Jaskier mused as they walked. “This would go so much easier if her eyes were red, or her hair was blue, or some such thing. It’s never hard to locate Yennefer.”

The guards at the gatehouse had no memory of a woman in a green dress coming to the castle, and directed them to the town instead. One guard suggested that they might ask at the market about any new magic wielders in the area, though that might give them a longer list than they had bargained for. So Jaskier and Geralt rode down into town and found a stable to leave Roach, then set out to find the market.

The town was a bit larger than it had first appeared, vibrant and bustling. Jaskier felt his spirits lift as they passed bakeries and bookshops, clothiers and toymakers. Sometimes he didn’t realize how much he’d missed civilization after weeks on the road, until he found himself surrounded by these little luxuries.

The market wasn’t hard to find, located in the main square in the center of town. There was a large tiered fountain in the middle and the market stalls wrapped all around it, colorful and inviting. Jaskier felt sure that a town this charming must also have a charming gossip mill. It was just a matter of finding the pulse of it.

By the time they arrived and took their measure of the place Geralt’s face was already looking pinched with tension. With this many people around, Jaskier knew that Geralt would not only be dealing with the sudden riot of sounds and smells, but also the inevitable stares as they passed.

“Cheer up, witcher, you’ve received a warmer than usual welcome here so far.” Jaskier nudged Geralt with his elbow.

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, nudging him back. “Perhaps they’ve heard your songs.”

Jaskier grinned. “Do you think so? Ah, Geralt, I’ve just had the most marvelous idea.”

“No.”

“Why do you always assume that my ideas will end badly?”

Geralt arched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, at least I didn’t sleep with anyone questionable this time. And anyway, I just want to make sure that we’re going to get some honest answers from people.” He swung his lute around from back to front with a sunny grin.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, reaching for his doublet and swiping at air. “ _Jaskier_!”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Geralt was serious, so he paused in the act of climbing up onto the wide edge of the fountain. “What?”

Geralt finally caught him and yanked him back into the shadow of a building. “If we draw attention to ourselves she might see us, and disappear. We’re risking enough just asking around about her. And what happens if your playing brings a storm?”

Jaskier hung his head and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I just wanted to charm them into sharing information.”

“It...wasn’t a bad idea.” Geralt wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” He glanced at the sky meaningfully.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier declared, and then Geralt’s thumb swept across his collarbone, right where his doublet hung open from his shirt, and Jaskier amended, “Perhaps I should have an ale just to be sure.” He pulled away from Geralt’s touch and turned to look for a tavern.

“Question first, drink later. Unless you’re content with carrying around someone else’s chaos.”

Jaskier deflated. “I hate it when you’re correct, especially when it deprives me of the pleasure of ale.”

“You’re rarely deprived of pleasure, Jaskier.”

The tone in Geralt’s voice was at odds with the smirk on his face, but Jaskier shrugged it off. “Well, it will be a pleasure to sing a melancholic ballad again without bringing down an entire lake’s worth of rain, so onward we will push.”

They had no luck at the baker’s stall, except to find the most delicious sticky buns Jaskier had ever tasted, and he loudly praised them as they walked. As he sucked the honey from his fingertips Geralt said, “ _Bard_ ,” in a strangled voice.

“Do not tell me you aren’t enjoying that, Geralt, because I won’t believe you.”

Geralt was staring resolutely at the bun in his hand. “They’re...very good.”

“A fine concession. Come, there’s the jeweler’s stall.”

The jeweler wasn’t aware of anyone like Theda coming to town, but he tempted Jaskier into opening his purse to purchase a new silver ring for his collection. He found one etched with tiny flowers and was pleased to see that it fit his pinky finger perfectly.

“How many rings do you need, anyway?” asked Geralt curiously when Jaskier showed him.

“How many fingers do I have?”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“May I buy you one, dear witcher? Your fingers are extremely naked.”

“No.”

“But, Geralt--”

“No.”

“Well. I daresay my hands could be considered weapons by this point, with all this silver. I’d send the monsters running from my fists. You could learn from my example.”

Geralt let out an actual chuckle, low and rich, and a shiver ran down Jaskier’s back. “Let’s continue, bard, before you spill all your coin on luxuries. We’ll need it for lodgings tonight.”

The next stall sold ribbons, and the next shoes, and on and on down the row of stalls with no luck until Jaskier thought he would scream. Most people were as helpful as they could be, but no one remembered a stranger in a tattered green dress, and Jaskier had no better description to give. It was probable that she had changed her dress anyway. His exuberance from earlier had evaporated, leaving helplessness weighing down on his chest. Geralt placed a steadying hand between his shoulder blades and tried to encourage him.

“That’s one we haven’t tried,” he said, pointing meaningfully at the stall of a palm reader. Draped in billowing silks that were frayed around the edges with age, the stall contained an older woman with heavy gray braids wrapped in coils at the nape of her neck. Her face was lined and her dark eyes were aloof, and she looked absolutely unfazed to see a witcher at her doorway.

“Good madam,” Jaskier began, sweeping her a courteous bow before stepping into the tent. “My friend and I are in search of someone. Perhaps you’ve seen her, or heard of her--”

The woman held out her hand at Jaskier, who said, “Oh,” and reached for his purse, prepared to pay for answers.

“Your hand, boy,” she said impatiently.

“My dear lady, you flatter me. I haven’t been referred to as ‘boy’ for...well, let’s say a few years, anyway. But you are free to do so as much as you like.” He ignored Geralt’s snort and seated himself in the chair opposite her. He laid his hand in hers and waited.

Her gaze wasn’t on his hand, however, but his eyes. “It won’t last forever. Nothing ever does.”

“What won’t?”

“The weather. Your search. Your secret. Take your pick.” She finally looked down at his hand and traced a line on his palm, after the fact.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “The woman--”

“Ask the apothecary,” she interrupted calmly, and squeezed his hand. “You are stronger than you believe.”

Inexplicably, Jaskier felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes, but the old palm reader held his hand until the silks stopped tossing in the sudden wind.

Geralt led him away from the stall, guiding him into the mouth of an alley. “What was that about?”

“I…” Jaskier said, his mouth dry and his words gone. Geralt waited, and he slid his hand around to cup the back of Jaskier’s neck. Helplessly, Jaskier leaned into the touch, and didn’t feel strong at all. “The apothecary,” he said hoarsely. “Let’s check there.”

Geralt’s expression seemed oddly disappointed, maybe a little bit resigned, but his hand fell away and he followed Jaskier out into the sunshine.

The apothecary kept a tidy shop tucked back on a side street away from the bustling market, and Jaskier stepped aside to let Geralt take the lead as soon as they went inside. A stooped older gentleman stood behind the counter, shrewdly appraising Geralt while his eyes only skipped dismissively over Jaskier.

“Haven’t seen a witcher in ages,” he said, flattening his palms on the countertop. “Have you brought me anything to trade?”

Geralt shook his head. “Sorry, not this time. We’re looking for information.”

The apothecary gestured at his shop. “I only have tinctures, salves, powders, and oils here, as you see.”

“Surely for the right price,” Jaskier began, but halted when Geralt put up his hand.

“Do you have asphodel? My supply is low.” He hesitated and glanced at Jaskier, then back at the old man. “And chamomile oil. A bottle of that.”

Jaskier was pleased that Geralt remembered his favorite moisturizing oil, though he was a little surprised that he would want to buy it for him. Geralt was being oddly solicitous lately, and for some reason this particular thing brought that into clarity for Jaskier. He supposed that it was because of the curse, that perhaps Geralt pitied him, and that took some of the shine away from the moment. He had been clinging to the little touches that Geralt gave him, the brief, warm glances, the gentle words. He wondered if they would all disappear once Jaskier was free of the curse. They had certainly been few and far between before.

The items were produced and an amount agreed upon, but Geralt slid twice that amount across the counter. The man narrowed his eyes at the coins and then tilted his head, just a bit, letting them know he was listening.

“A sorceress,” Jaskier said, stepping forward, “possibly wearing a green dress. Faded blonde hair, a little crazy around the eyes. She would have arrived three days ago. We were told you might know her.”

“What do you want with her?”

“Does it matter to you?”

“Mere curiosity.”

Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest. “She cursed me, and I’d like her to take it back.”

The old man laughed. “I’ve known a few sorceresses in my day, and not a one of them ever took back a curse for saying ‘please.’”

“I never said we’d give her the option,” Jaskier said seriously. “I don’t believe in pleading with murderers.”

The man sobered and sighed. “She’ll be back tomorrow at noon to pick up some supplies I didn’t have on hand when she visited me.”

Jaskier slumped with relief and found that Geralt was close behind him, propping him up. “I’ll make sure you get your payment from her, for your troubles,” Geralt said, then tucked his purchases away into his pockets and they left.

For the first time in days Jaskier could take a deep breath, filling his lungs and his heart with hope. “Well, I don’t know about you, Geralt, but I could do with some dinner. Shall we find some fine establishment to feed us?”

“I’d settle for some stew in a rented room,” Geralt replied, nodding toward the swinging sign just down the street from the apothecary that advertised ‘The Nesting Hen.’

Jaskier sighed. “Your tastes are so pedestrian.”

“You’re just feeling spoiled after a day with Yen.”

“I will say this about her, the woman does appreciate the finer things in life. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had a bath like that one.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier paid for supper and lodgings, then they were shown to a smallish room on the second floor with a smallish bed and a smallish window.

“We’ve definitely gotten more for less before,” Jaskier pointed out, “but at least the window overlooks the apothecary so we can keep an eye out for her.”

“It’s fine,” Geralt said, shrugging at the state of the room. “Bed looks clean.”

“It really says a lot about our standards that we’re excited about that.”

“You could always go live at Yenn’s. Plenty of bedrooms there.” Geralt smirked faintly as he opened the door for a nervous maid carrying two steaming bowls of stew.

“There’s plenty of _Yennefer_ there,” Jaskier replied. “You’re right, this place is fine.”

The maid looked pleased that he’d said so.

~*~

The stew was actually quite good, with big chunks of carrot and potato, and meat that was recognizably beef, and Jaskier felt his spirits brighten a little with a full belly and a real possibility of breaking his curse. “Well,” he said, patting his stomach, “it may not be up to Yennefer’s standards, but in this case your pedestrian choice was a good one.”

“You seem better,” Geralt said, eyeing him cautiously. “More relaxed.”

“I have hope that we’ll find her, now. Before it seemed hopeless.”

Geralt gave him a lopsided smile. “You know I won’t stop until we find her. Whether that’s tomorrow or a year from now.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, both at the emotional declaration and the notion of a long term search. “Gods forbid. Can you imagine me, like this for a year? I’d go mad. I’d have to buy boring clothes so as not to excite myself.”

“That would be a tragedy,” Geralt agreed, but his raised eyebrow said otherwise. He leaned back slightly in his chair, rocking on two legs.

“Stop it, you love my colors. I’m a brightly feathered songbird. Think how drab your world would be without me.” Jaskier realized too late that he was skirting a topic too intimate for good sense to allow.

Geralt tilted his head a little, his gaze warm. “Drab indeed.”

Jaskier swallowed hard. “Well. Anyway. It would be a shame if both of us wandered the Continent together garbed in black and gray, with no music to accompany us.”

“I’d probably get more done. The monsters wouldn’t hear us coming.”

Jaskier grinned, but it fell quickly from his face. “Geralt. I’m nothing without music. If I can’t play, if I can’t… _feel_ , what am I? What good am I?”

Geralt’s chair settled with a solid thump on the floor. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You’re worth more than your music, Jaskier.”

Jaskier looked away, his heart in his throat. He was afraid to desire more, having already received more from Geralt in four days than he had in years of knowing him. He shouldn’t be greedy.

“Thank you,” he finally said, clearing his throat and glancing quickly at Geralt, who was looking out the window.

“We’ll find her tomorrow. All this will be nothing more than a song to be written beside a campfire.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He watched Geralt’s hand tighten around his tankard of ale, his knuckles whitening, and Jaskier’s own hand felt empty.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

~*~

After supper was cleared away, Geralt went to check on Roach at the stables and to retrieve their belongings. Jaskier sat cross-legged on their bed and played the lute calmly while he was gone, reminding himself to stay neutral. It was hard to play without his usual range of emotions, but his fingers were desperate for the feel of the strings and his ears were longing for soaring sound. He felt it was worth trying, even without Geralt there to help. He needed to know his limits, in case this was to be his life.

He tried out a simple tune that had begun to take flight in his head and some half-formed lines about a crazed witch and a cursed young man. He wondered whether he should cast himself as the hero of the tale, or Geralt.

Then again, he reminded himself, the tale was not yet over. A happy ending was never a guarantee.

He looked up when Geralt came through the door laden with their packs. “Any trouble?”

Geralt shook his head. “You forgot to light a candle,” he said, and flicked a gentle Igni at the candle on the nightstand.

“I don’t need light to play,” he said with a smile.

“That’s the one you’ve been humming in your sleep,” Geralt said, efficiently stripping off his weapons and armor.

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “You mean I’ve actually been composing while I sleep?”

Geralt shrugged. He tugged the leather tie from his hair and ran his fingers through it, shaking out the tangles. Jaskier stared for a moment, distracted, then blinked. He strummed a few chords and watched Geralt’s face.

“That’s the one,” Geralt confirmed. “What’s it about?”

“You truly want to know?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Jaskier tapped his fingers nervously on the face of the lute, coaxing hollow thumps from the wood. “Heroics and heartbreak.”

Geralt smiled faintly and pulled off his shirt. “Aren’t all of them?”

“Well,” said Jaskier, looking away from Geralt’s naked skin, “there was no heartbreak in that one about the rotfiends.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt dropped his smallclothes and pulled on his linen sleeping trousers, no shirt, and Jaskier absolutely _hated_ that the damned witch had mucked up his fortitude. He wanted so badly to touch Geralt’s bare skin that his throat ached and his fingers itched. His cock was hardening, and he wondered if he could get away with sleeping in his clothes, or if that would seem too odd. Then Geralt tossed his bag to him with all his clean things, and the decision was made for him. He set his lute aside and found his own sleep trousers and an old shirt, soft with wear. He changed with his back to Geralt, unwilling to tempt eye contact. He felt like a teenager again, trying to get himself under control.

“It hasn’t rained since we arrived here,” Geralt commented.

“Now you’ve done it. You’ve jinxed us.” He glanced out the window and saw a dark sky full of stars, dazzling, with barely a sliver of moonlight to compete.

“You don’t believe in jinxes.”

“Geralt, I cause thunderstorms when I get cranky. I’d believe in anything right now.”

Geralt sighed. “Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

Jaskier propped himself up at the head of the bed and Geralt dragged a chair over to sit near him. They shared the bottle quietly, until Geralt spoke up.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do once this is broken?”

Jaskier thought of what had happened in the bath at Yennefer’s villa, thought about wrapping his hand around his cock and letting go of the simmering tension in his body and his heart that had been chasing him for days. He considered the idea of finding a brothel when all this was over, but the thought left a sour feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t sex that he wanted. It was Geralt.

“I want to play a love song and get lost in it,” he said, which wasn’t untrue.

Geralt hummed, watching him with unguarded eyes. It usually took much more wine to make a difference in Geralt’s mood, but tonight he was surprisingly soft. “Do you want to play one now?”

Jaskier blinked. “I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“I can keep you calm.”

“I can’t hold your hand while I play,” Jaskier pointed out, his heart skipping a beat just at the idea of his touch. It was a terrible, terrible idea.

“What about this?” Geralt asked as he wrapped his warm, rough fingers around Jaskier’s bare ankle, where it rested on the bed nearby him.

Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to draw from Geralt a grounding feeling instead of the desire that threatened to break through his calm. It was his ankle, for the gods’ sake, not his cock.

“We can try,” he muttered, and picked up his lute. He strummed lightly for a while, just running through bits and pieces of the love songs in his repertoire, until he landed on one that tugged at his heart. It was a melancholy one, lilting like a lullaby, about the love of a boy for a girl who had been enchanted into a mockingbird. He would sing of his love for her and she could only repeat the music back to him, never her own.

For a few minutes he let the song fill his heart, let himself sink into it, and he felt such relief at opening up again that he slumped down a little against the pillow, cradling his lute while he played. Geralt pulled Jaskier’s leg forward off the edge of the bed until his foot rested on Geralt’s thigh, and he barely noticed. He stared out the window as he sang, watching the stars, and when clouds began to sail over them he refocused on Geralt’s thumb, brushing back and forth over the ball of his ankle.

His voice faltered and Geralt squeezed gently, reminding him to be calm, and it didn’t work. He was riding a knife’s edge of emotion and desire, and one small push would send him over. He glanced at Geralt and his song trailed off at the look in Geralt’s golden eyes, bright and open and _longing_ , and Jaskier realized--suddenly and with heart-stopping clarity--that he had been a fool.

He set his lute carefully down beside the bed at the same time that Geralt slid his hand up Jaskier’s leg, just a little, but enough to be unmistakable. He could suddenly feel the tension in Geralt’s thigh beneath his bare foot, and he shuddered as heat coiled deep within him. Jaskier watched Geralt’s face, his slightly parted lips and half-lidded eyes, the flush of his usually pale cheeks.

“Tell me,” Geralt said, pushing up the leg of his trousers as he moved his hand higher on Jaskier’s calf.

“Please,” Jaskier whispered, and his legs fell open as Geralt crawled up between them, his thighs nudging Jaskier’s, pressing him wide. Geralt’s hardening cock dragged gently against his belly through their trousers as he settled to rest on top of Jaskier so lightly, quivering. Jaskier dug his fingers into Geralt’s bare shoulders and pulled him down, suddenly desperate now that the floodgates were opening. He tightened his thighs around Geralt’s and hooked his arms around his neck. He chased after Geralt’s mouth, a breath away.

“Jas,” Geralt moaned, leaning his weight on his forearms, holding himself back.

“You want me?” Jaskier whispered, bewildered and shaky.

Geralt caught his trembling mouth in answer, a kiss that quickly overwhelmed, deep and sharp, teeth and tongue and breath. Jaskier groaned, giving himself over completely to Geralt’s whim, his heart racing and his hands tangling in Geralt’s hair, tightening and holding on.

“Gods, I hope this--” he said against Geralt’s chin, this throat, his lips abraded by stubble, “I hope this isn’t a mistake.”

“Doesn’t feel like one,” Geralt replied, tipping his head back and groaning when Jaskier bit down on his neck, tasting salt and heat against his tongue. Geralt pressed him down into the mattress, trapping him with one heavy hand on his shoulder, finding his mouth again for a kiss. He rocked his hips and Jaskier arched back with a cry, a sharp and exquisite ache in his cock that overcame every sense.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “ _Geralt_.”

There was a roaring in his ears that he thought at first was his blood rushing in his head, until he opened his eyes and saw the window beside them, the driving rain against the glass and the flash of lightning that lit up the sky so bright it could have been day. Thunder cracked and he shoved Geralt back with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, crying out his anger.

“No, no,” he shouted at the sky, covering his ears, breathing heavily.

Geralt hovered at the foot of the bed, his eyes glinting gold in the white flare of lightning. “Jaskier,” he rasped, “hush. Hush.”

He carefully moved to the side and crawled back up the bed to take Jaskier in his arms. His touch was cautious and gentle, pulling Jaskier’s head to his shoulder and gathering him up, head to toe, holding him still. “Hush,” he said again, and Jaskier pulled in a shuddering breath and released it slowly. When he took another breath it was in time with Geralt’s. He could feel Geralt’s heart beating slow and heavy in his chest.

They lay there for a long time, waiting for the storm to subside, while Jaskier fought back tears and buried his face in Geralt’s throat. He smelled of leather and sweat, wild and familiar. When the rain had lessened to a steady drizzle he tipped his head back to look Geralt in the eye.

“I’ve wanted for so long. You can’t show me this and then tell me I can’t have it. _Please._ ”

Geralt smoothed the hair back from his eyes and hesitated, then kissed him so carefully that the touch was barely there, his lips clinging softly. Jaskier sank into the embrace as though it was a warm bath, desire enveloping his whole body, but so gently that his heart stayed even and calm.

“Oh,” he breathed, and Geralt gently tugged Jaskier’s shirt off then rested his hand on his belly, waiting for something that Jaskier couldn’t understand. He reached up and touched Geralt’s cheek, opening up for his kiss, telling himself that he could have this. That he was stronger than a drop of chaos.

Geralt brushed his thumb back and forth over Jaskier’s sternum, pressed his fingers into the notches of his ribs. The rain fell softly on the glass, and Geralt leaned down to brush his lips over Jaskier’s collarbone, tasting his skin with slow, flickering licks of his tongue.

Jaskier moaned, just a thread of sound, when Geralt slowly untied his trousers and pulled them down his legs, letting them fall to the floor. Instead of touching his cock, which was already wet at the head, Geralt swept his hand down Jaskier’s hip, trailing over the sensitive skin there that made him shiver, the softness of his inner thighs, and Jaskier’s legs parted instinctively. Geralt rocked into Jaskier so gently it was like a wave, sliding his thigh between Jaskier’s and giving him something solid to move against.

It was hard to remember to go slowly, but he listened with one ear to the rain and with the other he listened to Geralt’s soft breathing, felt the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest where it pressed against him. They found a rhythm like a heartbeat to move to, and Geralt kissed him at the same time that he took Jaskier’s cock in his hand.

“Geralt,” he said shakily, arching up into him, weighed down perfectly by his heavy thigh. “Please.”

“Hush,” Geralt whispered again, and he dragged his mouth against Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier ran his hand over Geralt’s chest, thumbing across his pebbled nipple, doing it again when Geralt hissed in a breath. He traced the defined muscles of his stomach, the smooth skin above the waistband of his trousers. When he reached for the ties Geralt shook his head.

“Later,” he said, kissing Jaskier again, teasing him with his tongue.

When Jaskier came it was like the softest ripples on the surface of a pond, washing over his whole body and spilling wet over Geralt’s hand. He moaned into Geralt’s mouth, trembling as he came apart. Before he had even finished he was fumbling for Geralt’s trousers, wanting to share the feeling with him, aching for him, but Geralt pushed his hands away and did it himself. Geralt’s cock was a thing of beauty, long and thick, and Geralt wasted no time rubbing over the head with fingers still slick with Jaskier’s come.

“Just watch,” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier was helpless to do anything else, watching Geralt’s hand move just as slowly on himself as he had done with Jaskier, his fist and his cock shining and wet, and Jaskier’s mouth watered with the desire to taste him. The wind picked up against the walls of the inn and Geralt shook his head. “Either you stop, or I will.”

Jaskier swallowed hard and calmed himself, shivering at the command, and Geralt nodded his approval and relief. His chest was heaving and his hand sped up just a bit, his knuckles brushing against Jaskier’s belly in a tantalizing rhythm that almost had Jaskier hardening again. Jaskier threaded his hands through Geralt’s hair, changing his focus to Geralt’s eyes, golden even in the dark. He felt hot splashes against his skin and Geralt’s shuddering sigh against his cheek, then kissed his slack mouth until Geralt could kiss him in return. He twisted his hands in Geralt’s hair and Geralt groaned, pulsing against him again.

“I want more,” Jaskier said, rubbing his leg against Geralt’s thigh, entreating with his whole body.

Geralt huffed against his neck where he was peppering soft kisses. “So do I.”

“You’re not going to give it to me, are you?”

“Not tonight, no.”

Jaskier ran his fingers through the length of Geralt’s hair, gathering it away from his face. “But another night?”

Geralt leaned up on one arm beside him. “I want to try again when you can be yourself.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “I can be rather...a lot.”

“I know. Inn walls are thin.” Geralt replied with a smile, but his eyes simmered with something else. He cleaned them both with the corner of the bedsheet and settled his heavy hand on Jaskier’s belly.

“Are you jealous? Because you’ve heard me with other people?”

“And if I am?”

“Then I’d say, you should have told me sooner. Why didn’t you?”

“Jas,” he said, reticent as ever.

“Tell me.”

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. “You’ve stayed with me through everything. But what if you don’t stay after this?”

“Oh.” Jaskier needed a minute to absorb that, like a punch to the gut. Geralt’s jaw was tight, and he was staring resolutely at the candle, burning low on the night table. “Oh, Geralt.”

He realized that his lack of response was only making things worse, but his heart was clenched up around all his words and he fought to get them out. With fingers that trembled a little he touched Geralt’s downturned mouth. “I could never leave you, no matter what we are to each other. You’ll have to make me, and even then I’ll fight you for it.”

Geralt let out a long breath, as though he’d been holding it for a very, very long time.

“As you said, I’ve stayed with you through everything.” Jaskier kissed him softly, and then leaned back to look at him. Geralt looked solemn but relaxed, like a long held tension had been released from his shoulders.

Jaskier played with Geralt’s hair, combing his fingers through the waving silver strands, then smirked. “I’ve heard you too, you know, though you’re not loud. Saw you, too, on one occasion I’d rather forget.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. “Yenn. Is that why you don’t like her?”

Jaskier shrugged, still feeling that familiar burn of jealousy despite currently being in bed with Geralt. “That. Also, I hate for anyone else to be more eye-catching than myself in any room I walk into.”

“Hmm.” Geralt smiled, a genuine one this time, more relaxed. “I won’t stroke your ego more than it needs to be, but...you have nothing to worry about when it comes to Yenn. In any sense.”

“You could stroke it a little bit, you know.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt rolled his eyes and kissed him.

“Or you could tell me all the things you’re going to do to me once I’m no longer a human storm cloud,” he cajoled, running his finger down Geralt’s chest to his navel, where Geralt caught it.

“If I tell you, I might as well show you, and then we’d bring the whole building down on us.”

Jaskier sighed. “We’ve definitely had enough of that for one lifetime, I think.”

Geralt nudged him off the bed and they cleaned up properly with fresh water in the wash basin. Geralt rearranged the rumpled blankets and they slid in together, their body heat quickly warming the cool sheets. It could have been any other night sharing a bed, except that Geralt opened his arm for Jaskier instead of making himself as narrow as possible, and they tangled their legs together instead of making sure they didn’t touch.

“The rain stopped,” Geralt said, and kissed Jaskier’s forehead.

“It did,” he agreed, smiling sleepily. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“If I start mumbling lyrics in my sleep, would you write them down for me?”

Geralt’s chuckle was a deep rumble under Jaskier’s ear. “Go to sleep, Jas.”

“Geralt?”

Geralt sighed.

“How are we going to convince her to break the curse?”

“We’ll be very persuasive.”

“I’m extremely motivated.” Jaskier pressed a tender kiss to Geralt’s throat, then another because he couldn’t help it. The third kiss was purely to see if he could get Geralt to shiver again, which he did.

“Jaskier…”

He grinned against Geralt’s shoulder. “That didn’t sound like a ‘no.’”

“Good night, bard.”

“Good night, witcher.”

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

~*~

Jaskier slowly became aware of the morning light through the window shining warm on his face, and the heat from behind him even warmer than the sunlight. Geralt was curved around him like a bow, touching every part of him from head to toe. His thighs were tucked into the angle of Jaskier’s, and his cock was hard against his cheeks. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath and shifted back, an instinctive need taking over his rational thought.

Geralt hissed and flattened his hand on Jaskier’s stomach, stilling him at the same time that he pressed him even closer. “Sorry,” he said against the nape of Jaskier’s neck, his breath hot and his lips catching on his skin like a kiss.

“Don’t ever be sorry for giving me the thing I want most,” Jaskier replied, his voice coming out broken and needy. He tried to move but Geralt’s palm held him still.

“We can’t,” Geralt murmured. “We can’t afford to tip her off that we’re here, if we haven’t already.”

“You mean the weather? I can be quiet, Geralt, I can be good.”

Geralt smothered a groan against Jaskier’s shoulder. “You’re maddening.”

“Please,” Jaskier whispered.

“We _can’t_. Just...lie here with me. Wait. Save it for later.”

Jaskier groaned, sliding his hand over Geralt’s and weaving their fingers together, so close to his own hardening cock. “How am I the maddening one?”

Geralt huffed and kissed the back of his neck, a simple, gentle thing.

“You’re really here with me? I’m not still asleep?”

“Hmm. Did you dream of me?”

“I usually do.”

“Jas,” he said, his arm tightening around Jaskier’s stomach. 

They lay together without speaking or moving for a long time, with just the sound of their breathing in the quiet room. Eventually Geralt relaxed behind him, and Jaskier blinked slowly as he drifted in and out of sleep. He felt protected, enveloped in warmth and affection and desire, and it was more than he’d ever dared to hope for from Geralt.

A while later Geralt disentangled himself and tapped Jaskier on the hip. “We should get up, get some breakfast.”

Jaskier sighed and rolled off the bed, stretching and yawning. He turned around and caught Geralt watching him with interest, a faint smile on his face. “Can I help you?” Jaskier asked cheekily.

Geralt shook his head. “I just like being able to look at you now.” He got out of bed and stood before Jaskier, not touching him. “ _Can_ I look at you now?”

Jaskier was surprised at the sudden hesitation in Geralt’s voice. “You can always look. You know I love to be admired, and yours are the eyes I most wanted on me.”

“I would watch you sometimes, while you were performing,” Geralt said, reaching up to tuck a wayward lock of Jaskier’s hair back in place, “and you would _shine_. I tried so hard to look away.”

His heart in his throat, Jaskier leaned in and kissed him, weather be damned. How could he not? He swallowed Geralt’s surprised moan, licking into his mouth. He kept his hands to himself, but he kissed Geralt until they were both breathless.

“Look,” he ordered, and turned away slowly, letting Geralt see him, bending over to pull clothes out of his bag. He heard Geralt growl behind him, just a little rumble of sound, and he smiled to himself.

“Tease,” Geralt said, his voice impossibly deep.

“Teasing implies I won’t let you have it later,” Jaskier reminded him as he pulled his clothes on, watching regretfully as Geralt did the same.

They were served a hearty breakfast downstairs, eggs and sausage and thick brown bread fresh from the oven. Jaskier secretly reveled in the feeling of new love, though his love was a decade old and Geralt had never actually said the word. Still, his stomach fluttered every time Geralt met his eyes across the table, every time he saw an almost-smile on his friend’s mouth.

The barmaid who served them smiled knowingly, clearly charmed by their display, and when she winked at him Jaskier felt a blush heat his cheeks. Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and tried to steal a bite of sausage from his plate, and when Jaskier smacked his fingers Geralt briefly grabbed and squeezed his hand, filling him with warmth and anticipation.

After breakfast they returned to their room to watch out the window at the apothecary shop down the street. Jaskier pulled up a chair and Geralt stood behind him, his hands resting on Jaskier’s shoulders. It wasn’t yet noon, but they didn’t want to take a chance that she would come early.

“I have an idea,” Jaskier said eventually, breaking their comfortable silence.

Geralt sighed.

“It’s a good idea!” Jaskier protested, swiveling to look up at him.

“You always say that,” Geralt said.

Jaskier ignored him. “I was thinking, what are our strengths? Yours is to quietly brood while you stalk monsters, and mine is to talk.”

“And your point is?”

Jaskier grinned. “You will wait inside the apothecary and brood, while I wait outside on the street. When she appears I’ll lay into her about how angry I am and how much this curse has ruined my life, and while she’s distracted you’ll jump out and cuff her.”

Geralt was silent for a moment, thinking it over. “And what’s to stop her from just portalling away as soon as she sees you?”

“From the way she acted when she cursed me, I don’t think she’ll be able to resist hearing what misery she caused.”

“It...might work.”

Jaskier gasped theatrically and pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh my stars, he approves!”

Geralt scowled at him and flicked his ear. “Brat.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I’d have you any possible way, Jaskier.”

The smile slipped from his face and he bit his lip at the surprising tenderness he saw in Geralt’s eyes alongside the heat. “Later,” he whispered, more of a reminder to himself than to Geralt.

“Later,” Geralt agreed, and stroked the side of Jaskier’s neck with his finger.

~*~

When noon approached and they had seen no sign of her, they went downstairs and cautiously stepped out into the street. It was luckily only a few moments before they could duck into the apothecary, but they drew up short when they saw that the old man was already with a customer. Jaskier pretended to be very interested in some vials of perfume, and then actually _was_ interested in the vials of perfume, while Geralt perused a shelf of medicinal tinctures. When the customer paid and left, Jaskier showed the apothecary the bottle he’d chosen and slipped the old man a coin, to Geralt’s bemusement.

“She’s not been here yet,” said the apothecary as he dropped the coin in a box.

“I’d like to wait in here, if you don’t mind,” Geralt said, and Jaskier watched him drop his shoulders to appear smaller and less threatening, a thing that he did often when dealing with humans. Jaskier hated to see it, but it usually set people at ease.

“I don’t want any mess here in my shop. What you do in the street is your business, but you’ll not be doing it in here,” he said warily.

“Don’t worry, she won’t even come in here,” Jaskier assured him. “I’ll be outside to meet her.”

“Ah, it’s a trap, then. Well, I suppose I haven’t had enough excitement in my life lately, or so my wife says. Very well, witcher, you may stay in here. But I expect you to entertain me with tales of your travels while you wait. I only sell exotic wares, I have no chance of acquiring them myself. You must have many stories to share.”

Jaskier just grinned at Geralt from ear to ear, while Geralt grimaced and nodded. Jaskier said, “You have fun in here, my dear,” and patted his cheek as he headed for the door.

Geralt glanced at the apothecary, who politely looked away, and leaned in to brush a kiss against Jaskier’s temple. “Be careful,” he said softly.

Jaskier stumbled out the door into the bright sunlight, his breath hitching in his chest and his head full of feathers. It was like his heart had just learned to beat, and he struggled to keep his composure.

He took up a post across the street from the shop, leaning against the wall between a bakery and a bookstore. He could see Geralt through the window if he squinted, and it made him feel better to know that he was being watched, that he wasn’t actually alone. For all that this was his own plan, he still felt no small amount of trepidation about confronting someone who could kill him with a snap of her fingers. And presumably she wouldn’t be exhausted from stretching herself so thin like she had been last time.

Then suddenly there she was, walking down the street toward him with a casual sway of her hips. She stopped in front of him holding a basket in her arms, her expression almost amused. She wore a modest blue dress and her hair was in a shiny braid over her shoulder. She looked younger, her complexion dewy and fair, and Jaskier felt a cold kind of horror to think that her home-brewed potion had worked. Like this, she could pass for any townsperson on the street, as long as one didn’t look too closely into her eyes.

“Bard,” she said, a prompt.

“Witch,” he replied, standing up straight.“Are you surprised to see me?”

“Not especially,” she replied, tilting her head a little. “I assumed with a witcher for a partner you’d have connections enough to find me. I admit I didn’t expect you to come alone.”

“And yet you stayed? Why not skip away again?”

“I was honestly curious about how it went. You’re very interesting, and I don’t meet enough interesting people.”

Jaskier gave her a truly bewildered look. “Are you serious?”

She shrugged. “I could have killed you before, but it seemed a shame. I may have to kill you now, of course, but you will have alleviated some boredom for me.”

“Boredom. How could you _possibly_ have been bored in between all those murders you were committing?”

“It’s a lonely life, you know.”

“Yes, when everyone around you is dead, I can imagine it would be.”

“But enough of this small talk, I want to hear about your curse! And on a related note, where is your witcher?” She looked slyly from side to side, but Jaskier had a feeling she’d been searching for him with her senses the whole time. He could only hope that within the shop Geralt was concealed well enough.

Jaskier made a rueful face and drew on every bit of his frustration over the last few days. “You mean the witcher who couldn’t handle that I’d been lying to him for ten years about the extent of my feelings for him? The witcher who was horrified and disgusted last night when it all came out into the open, and left me during a thunderstorm that _I made_? Is that the witcher you mean?”

She rolled her eyes a little, but her smile was eager. “Yes, that witcher.”

“He’s right here,” Geralt said, and grabbed her wrists and pulling them behind her back, snapping the dimeritium cuffs on her before she had time to do more than widen her eyes in surprise. Her basket fell to the ground, a loaf of bread and some fruit spilling out to roll across the cobblestones. Jaskier watched an apple land next to his boot, oddly mesmerized by the banality of a fearsome witch carrying nothing but food from the market.

When she realized she was caught, Theda hissed and spit like a cornered beast while Geralt held her by the cuffs. Jaskier leaned in as close as he dared and looked her in the eye.

“Turns out that my witcher likes my storm clouds as much as my sunny days, and I might never have known it if not for you. So, thanks for that.”

Geralt gave him a look over her shoulder, and while he couldn’t quite identify the emotion there it still made his heart skip in his chest. He smiled a little, relieved, then looked into Theda’s eyes. He traced his finger over the sapphire brooch on his doublet, drawing her gaze to it, and then cupped his hand over it and said clearly, “Tissaia.”

The horror in her eyes was gratifying, and he stepped back, arms crossed over his chest. “There are consequences, witch. Maybe we can’t mete them out, but there is someone else who can.”

She fought against Geralt’s grip, but without her power she barely had the strength to do more than stomp on his foot, which didn’t faze him in the slightest. She sobbed and gnashed her teeth in frustration as they waited, and after a short while a portal opened in the street, and through it stepped a diminutive but regal woman in a high-collared brocade dress, who took in the scene before her with unflappable calm.

“Yennefer?” she asked Jaskier, who was standing closest to her.

He shook his head and touched the brooch. “This is on loan from her. She sends her greetings, assuming that you are Tissaia.”

“I am.” The portal closed behind her with a rush of wind.

“Jaskier the bard, at your service,” he said with a smile and a sweeping bow. “And this is Geralt of Rivia, my witcher.” 

Geralt let out a soft snort.

Tissaia’s face could have been carved from stone, and Jaskier wondered what it would take to make her smile, but then when her eyes focused on Theda her expression flickered. “I expect one sorceress and find another. I’d much rather have preferred Yennefer, even as contentious as our history has been.”

“We really must compare notes sometime,” Jaskier said, ignoring Geralt’s sigh.

Tissaia’s eyes flicked back to Jaskier. “Would someone please fill me in on what has happened, or should I begin guessing?”

Jaskier shifted under her gaze, which was unnervingly similar to that of a governess he’d had as a child. “She’s been murdering people in order to find eternal youth, from what we can best tell. Yennefer filled us in on some of your history with Theda. Perhaps you don’t find this surprising.”

Tissaia stared at Jaskier, examining him, unblinking. “And I suppose she is responsible for this curse you’re under?”

Jaskier grimaced. “She said I was lightning in a bottle.”

Theda was looking away, her focus completely elsewhere, as though she thought that by ignoring Tissaia the sorceress would cease to be there.

“We should take this somewhere else, we’re drawing a crowd,” Tissaia pointed out, and effortlessly cast another portal. “Come along, if you would like all that sorted. If not, shove her through.”

“She’s a cheery sort, isn’t she?” Jaskier asked Geralt as they followed Tissaia through the portal. Immediately Jaskier stumbled to his knees, his stomach heaving, and had to endure the indignity of three pairs of eyes staring at him while he fought down his nausea. “Oh no, I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”

When he got to his feet he found that they had arrived in a stone walled chamber that looked like a small library, with a myriad of ancient tomes lining the shelves and a sturdy desk, and a large work table covered with supplies and ingredients. It looked so much like Yennefer’s workroom, albeit much tidier, that Jaskier almost smiled. A bay of windows looked out over the sea, wide and glistening in the afternoon light.

“Is this Aretuza?” he asked with interest, already imagining what stories lay hidden within its walls.

“These are my rooms,” Tissaia answered, which was neither a ‘yes’ nor a ‘no.’

“Right,” Jaskier agreed, taking the hint that he should ask no more questions.

“Before anything else, tell me what brought you all to this point. Tell me what she did.”

Theda tossed her head back and sneered. “Only what was necessary.”

Jaskier ignored her and described the whole story for Tissaia. The contract that Geralt had taken, the bodies on the road, the cottage with its horrors, the curse, all were laid out in plain language. Jaskier, for all his dramatic tendencies, couldn’t imagine explaining it any other way.

When he was done Tissaia turned away to face the windows, her profile seemingly carved from marble. “Thank you,” she said, her mouth thinning briefly. “For doing what we should have.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt, who still held the chain between Theda’s cuffs in his huge hand. He looked both relieved and somber, and Jaskier knew he was thinking of all the families of those who were murdered, how they could finally be told that justice had been done.

“Now, this curse,” Tissaia began, gesturing for Jaskier to sit in a plush chair by the fire. She remained standing, staring down at him with her unnervingly perceptive gaze. “I assume Yennefer tried to remove it?”

“She said she’d have to rip out pieces of Jaskier’s mind to do it,” Geralt spoke up. “We told her we would find another way.”

“She said Theda could do it.” Jaskier glanced at the witch, who stood there mutinously glaring at the floor. “But obviously we can’t _make_ her, so…”

“You’re hoping I can.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Either that or I spend my life being as boring as possible, so I don’t accidentally drown someone or kill them with a lightning strike.”

“You don’t know him, but ‘boring’ is not a word that anyone would use to describe Jaskier,” Geralt said. He finally let go of Theda and she stumbled. No one stepped forward to steady her.

Tissaia’s eyes slid back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier, and finally a faint smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “No, I can see that. Well, let me have a look, Jaskier the bard.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and prepared for his mind to be invaded again for the third time in four days. Unlike the previous times, Tissaia’s exploration was as cool as water running between stones, and Jaskier leaned back in his chair in relief. He let her see everything, even though she was a stranger to him, and he felt nothing but detached investigation from her.

When he opened his eyes Geralt was there, one hand on Jaskier’s shoulder in concern. “It’s alright,” Jaskier said, touching his hand. “It’s not like before.”

“Theda will have to be the one to break the curse,” Tissaia said. “Yennefer was right. Only Theda knows which pathways to take to remove it without damaging your mind.”

Theda laughed then, and it sounded less mad and more delighted. “As far as I’m concerned, bard, you can spend the rest of your life devoted to the weather. It will bring me pleasure to know you’ll never have what you desire.”

Geralt snarled at her and Jaskier rose from his seat to put a restraining hand on his chest. “Don’t give up yet,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as Geralt.

“How do we force a sorceress to be benevolent with her power? What’s to keep her from killing him?” Geralt demanded, his agitation growing.

“There are ways to compel her. They’re frowned upon, but they exist.”

Jaskier looked at the fire for a moment, thinking. “I don’t want to live like this, and I definitely don’t want her to have the satisfaction of forcing me to.”

Tissaia nodded, squaring her shoulders. “Then, Witcher, you can help me.”

Geralt looked surprised. “My magic is weak compared to yours. Barely more than parlor tricks.”

“You have a sign called Axii, do you not?”

Theda’s eyes widened.

“I can’t compel her alone.” Geralt was looking at her, clearly calculating her strength compared to his.

“And as soon as we remove the cuffs she’ll portal out of here,” Jaskier said, looking at Theda doubtfully.

“You’re right, bard,” Theda replied, sneering at him.

Tissaia shook her head. “I can keep her here, you can make her comply. Simple enough.”

“Reassure me that this will work. This is my whole self we’re talking about.”

Tissaia shrugged elegantly. “Either way there’s a risk that you’ll lose something, whether I do it or she does. Is it worth it to you?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt, who gazed back with an uncertainty that didn’t help his unease.

“Can we have a moment alone?” Jaskier asked, and Tissaia indicated a small antechamber. They found a chaise lounge there, and a tall, narrow window that overlooked the sea.

Jaskier leaned his back against the windowsill and Geralt stepped close, his boots bumping Jaskier’s. He cupped Jaskier’s cheek in his rough hand, his thumb sweeping slowly over his skin.

“Can you compel her? I’ve seen you use that sign on Roach, but have you used it on a human before?”

Geralt nodded. “I’ve used it, and it works. There’s a chance that she might be too strong, though.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. “Like Tissaia said, is it worth it?”

“That’s something only you can answer.”

“It’s not, though,” Jaskier said with a frown. “Would you stay with me, even if I always held back from you? Even if I had to change everything about myself?”

Silence reigned for a minute, then Geralt said, “I’ll have you any way you’ll let me. Any way you’re able.”

Once that registered in Jaskier’s heart he surged up and drew Geralt into a kiss, hard and full of heat. Geralt kissed him back without reservation, and Jaskier didn’t have to look to know that storm clouds were forming over the sea. He clutched at Geralt’s shoulder and felt tears pricking his closed eyes. He thought of the palm reader, reminding him that he was strong.

“It’s worth it to try,” he whispered against Geralt’s lips.

“Alright,” Geralt replied, as simple as that, and they returned to the other room.

Tissaia was standing at the wide window and looking at the gathering storm.

“Yes, we’ll do it,” Jaskier said firmly.

“I can see why you want to,” Tissaia said, glancing again at the window.

Theda smiled, looking pleased by the storm, the rain that began to lash at the glass, the gray sea churning. “I’ll tear you apart,” she said softly.

Jaskier swallowed hard and turned away from her.

“Let me tether her here,” Tissaia said to Geralt, “and then you remove the handcuffs. After that, you can use your sign.”

Geralt nodded and put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, waiting.

Tissaia took a deep, steady breath and focused on Theda, who looked both defiant and terrified at the same time. A ripple surged through the air, unseen, like a sharp winter breeze. Theda struggled against her cuffs, spitting curses that evaporated before they could form.

Geralt stepped forward, glancing at Tissaia’s stern, focused expression, then with one hand opened her cuffs and held the other hand over Theda’s forehead. She tried to lean away but he only followed her, forming the sign of Axii. “You will remove the curse from Jaskier, and you will do it in such a way that he suffers no further injury.”

Theda blinked slowly, her green eyes calming, and Jaskier remembered Roach’s gentle obedience before the portal. Geralt let her go and she just stood there, wavering slightly.

Jaskier stepped forward cautiously and stood before her. After a moment she reached up and touched his temples, and Jaskier fought the instinct to run away from her. He could feel her slipping inside his mind like rough tendrils of a vine, tangling and shifting, and Jaskier grunted in pain. He couldn’t tell if she was doing damage or not, but it _hurt_.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and Jaskier wanted to respond but it was taking all of his strength not to double over in pain. He could sense Geralt’s magic alongside Tissaia’s, though Geralt’s was much fainter, and Jaskier didn’t know if it would last long enough. The storm was raging and even through the agony Jaskier could hear it, the thunder rattling the glass in the window.

He couldn’t take any more, he couldn’t but he did anyway, tears streaking down his cheeks, his body trembling, Geralt’s hand slipping into his and gripping tight. He could feel foreign objects being tugged away, like pebbles under the surface of a lake that shouldn’t be there, leaving him with hollow trails through his mind that were blessedly cool in the wake of the magic that dragged roughly against him.

And then suddenly she was gone.

Jaskier staggered and Geralt caught him, holding him up. The world spun, the storm died, Geralt smelled of leather and salt and Jaskier clung to that, breathing.

“The cuffs,” Tissaia ordered, and Geralt stepped away from Jaskier quickly, cuffing Theda again while Jaskier braced himself against the wall. Tissaia’s magic flowed backwards into her, sucking the air back and making Jaskier’s ears pop with the pressure. She leaned slightly on her desk, the only outward sign that it had been difficult for her.

Geralt returned to his side, pulling him in tightly. “Did it work?”

Jaskier looked at Theda, thought of her cruel laughter, the organs in jars, the empty bodies left to rot along the roadside like discarded bones after a meal. He thought of his storms, the bright threads of lightning and the crashing thunder, of pushing Geralt away with all his strength, of his desperate yearning unfulfilled.

And nothing happened.

He went to the window and the sea was calming, the clouds were dissolving. The sun dazzled his eyes and he blinked, and it was over.

He looked back at Geralt and grinned, though his head ached and his hands were unsteady on the windowsill. Geralt took two strides across the room and dragged him into a kiss, clearly uncaring that they had an audience, and Jaskier kissed him back because he could. His heart swelled and he let it, and there was no storm.

Theda turned away, shaking like a tree in a high wind. Her hands were clenched into impotent fists behind her, immobile in her dimeritium cuffs.

“It’s done,” Tissaia said firmly, her eyes on Theda, grim and sorrowful.

Theda spit on the floor between them. “I was worthy, Tissaia, I was just as worthy as the rest of them, and _you know it_. What right did you have to withhold it from me? My transformation would have been glorious. I could have done so much.”

“You could have,” Tissaia said, her lip curling in disdain. “And look what you did instead.”

Theda shut her mouth as tight as a trap, looking as though she might never speak again.

“What will you do with her?” Jaskier asked.

“You needn’t concern yourself now.” Tissaia clasped her hands before her, her gaze steady once more. “Aretuza takes care of its own.”

_Not soon enough,_ Jaskier thought to himself, but it seemed pointless to comment on it now.

“I can send you back where you came from, if you wish,” she offered.

“Back to that same street,” Geralt confirmed.

Tissaia opened a portal and they stepped toward it, then Geralt hesitated. He turned and yanked the money purse off Theda’s belt and said, “Reparations.” 

Tissaia shrugged slightly. “Give my regards to Yennefer, when you see her. I should like her to have the brooch again, if you please.”

Jaskier smiled. “Thank you.” He thought there was more he should have said, a more eloquent way to express his gratitude, but Tissaia seemed like the sort of person who wouldn’t appreciate flowery language. Instead he just nodded at her, letting his expression speak for itself.

Tissaia returned his nod, and then Geralt was tugging him through the portal, this time supporting him when he stumbled in the street. There were startled shouts of passersby, and the portal closed with a rush of air behind them.

“Let’s never do that again,” Jaskier gasped against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, and guided Jaskier into the apothecary. The old man was at the window watching the spectacle they had created, looking pleased.

“Excitement enough to last me for a good while,” he stated, smiling.

Geralt handed him the small money purse. “For your help.”

He took it and looked inside. “More than fair.”

“Do you have anything for a headache?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier sighed in relief, warmed by Geralt’s thoughtfulness.

The old man handed him a small blue bottle and Jaskier downed it right there, handing the bottle back. He tried to pay the man but he shook his head.

“As I said, more than fair. Enjoy your adventures, witcher.”

Jaskier blinked in the afternoon sun when they emerged into the street, and he could feel his headache easing. Geralt was looking at him intently, his eyes alight with anticipation. Jaskier was slow to react, still getting his bearings, but then he realized what Geralt’s expression meant and he grinned, his heart suddenly kicking in his chest. He caught Geralt’s arm and steered him in the direction of the inn, tripping on his own feet while Geralt huffed breathlessly behind him.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

~*~

They crashed through the door already kissing, Geralt having caught him in the hallway, and then the door slammed behind them and Geralt crowded him up against it, trapping him there with his whole body. Jaskier trembled to be the focus of Geralt’s intensity, his golden eyes brighter than the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

“Let go,” Geralt murmured against his lips. “I want to feel you let go.”

Jaskier gasped and rolled his hips against Geralt’s, uncaring that they were going too fast, uncaring that the door rattled in its frame under the force of Geralt pinning Jaskier’s wrists against it. It skirted the edge of pain but didn’t spill over, and Jaskier wanted to be overwhelmed so he let himself be. He moaned and shook, and fought Geralt’s grip just for show. Geralt grinned at him, something feral in his eyes that lit Jaskier up from head to toe.

“Make me,” he challenged Geralt, kissing him hard and biting at his lower lip. Geralt growled and yanked him away from the door, walking him backwards until the backs of his legs bumped into the bed. Jaskier yanked at his own doublet, hearing the seams hiss as they were strained, and Geralt helped to strip it down his arms. For a moment he was trapped and Geralt took advantage of it, biting his neck and licking at the sting while Jaskier struggled.

“Hmm,” Geralt rumbled, finally releasing him from the fabric. “We’ll revisit that later.”

Jaskier smiled, giddy and breathless. “Anything you want. Truly.”

Geralt groaned and kissed him, then pulled his shirt over his head. Jaskier busied himself with his boots and trousers, while Geralt pulled roughly at his own clothes and then they were both naked, both hard and wanting. For a moment they paused and looked at each other, at each other’s bodies that were both so familiar and also seen for the first time. Jaskier ran the back of his fingers down Geralt’s chest and belly, the curves of his hard muscles, the softness of his scarred skin. He skimmed over Geralt’s hipbone and skirted the rough curls at the base of his cock, then dropped suddenly to his knees on the rough wood floor and took him into his mouth.

He tasted like the sea, sharp and briny, and Jaskier sucked lightly at the head to draw out more of his slickness. Geralt made a wounded sound and grabbed Jaskier’s hair, tightening but not pushing, and Jaskier hummed at the sensation, finding a rhythm with his mouth and his hands. It was a stretch to take him in, and Jaskier’s jaw ached sweetly.

He could have continued eagerly for some time, listening to the little noises that Geralt made, feeling the almost imperceptible rocking of his hips, the pulse of his cock like a heartbeat against his tongue, but Geralt pulled him off and shoved him down on the bed. He blinked up at Geralt, who crawled over him and braced himself, his chest heaving and his eyes on fire. He dropped down, pinning Jaskier with his weight, until Jaskier threw his head back and gasped for air, wrapping his legs around Geralt’s thighs to keep him there. Geralt nipped at his jaw, dragged his sharp canines down Jaskier’s throat, sucked a bruise into the delicate skin where his neck met his shoulder.

Jaskier arched at the pressure and the window caught his eye, the blue sky and the bars of sunlight that streamed through the glass and lit up Geralt’s skin like gold. By now the window probably would have shattered from the force of the gale and the driving rain. Jaskier reveled in the silence, in the soft rushing of their breath and the moans that echoed through the small room.

“Bard,” Geralt said roughly against his shoulder, rolling his hips against Jaskier’s.

“My name is Jaskier,” he laughed breathlessly, angling his head to invite more of Geralt’s tongue and teeth.

“Jas,” Geralt murmured, spearing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, making him moan, and tugged Jaskier into a deep kiss that said more than words could about how much Geralt wanted him.

“Would you take me? I need you to take me,” Jaskier pleaded, lifting his hips and opening his thighs even wider so that Geralt settled hard against him, the pressure on his cock making him pant in little quick huffs of breath.

Geralt was suddenly gone, the pressure releasing and the air swirling cool over Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier watched, aching, while Geralt dug into his things and came back with the chamomile oil he’d just purchased the day before.

“Were you thinking ahead?” Jaskier asked, laughing.

“I only hoped,” Geralt replied, climbing onto the bed and slicking up his fingers. Before he could even take a steadying breath Geralt had lifted Jaskier’s leg over his forearm and pulled him wide, rubbing a slick finger over his hole. Jaskier jerked in surprise and then sucked in a breath as the tip of Geralt’s finger breached him.

“Gods, I’ve needed this for so long,” Jaskier moaned, trying to get him to go deeper. “All I could do was imagine.”

“Did you do this to yourself and think of me?” Geralt sounded wrecked, his voice impossibly low and his eyes half-lidded as he slowly thrust his finger into Jaskier’s body, a second finger gently joining it.

Jaskier’s eyes fell shut and he groaned at the pressure. “Keep talking to me like that and this will be over before it’s begun.”

“Did you?” Geralt repeated, twisting his fingers, and Jaskier cried out.

“Yes, while you were gone hunting,” he panted. “I’d think of you, only you.”

Geralt growled and pressed three fingers into him, and Jaskier arched his back. For endless minutes Geralt stretched him, too slowly for Jaskier’s impatience, and he finally reached down to grab Geralt’s wrist, forcing him deeper. He met Geralt’s startled gaze.

“Even when I was with others, it was always you.”

“Fuck,” Geralt rasped, pulling his fingers away and slicking up his cock. “Fuck, Jas,” he said, lining himself up and slipping smoothly inside, a divine stretch that dragged a cry from Jaskier’s throat.

“Make me let go,” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt leaned down to kiss him, just a little bite of teeth, a promise, then he snapped his hips and Jaskier had to clutch his shoulder and hang on, bracing one hand on the headboard of the bed.

“Gods, you’re perfect, Geralt, you’re so good to me,” he babbled, hitching his legs up around Geralt’s hips. Geralt growled again and raked his blunt nails down Jaskier’s furred chest and stomach, leaving fire in their wake. Jaskier paid him back by sliding his fingers into Geralt’s long hair and tugging, making him hiss and shudder.

Geralt doubled his efforts, rocking harder into him, hooking an arm around Jaskier’s thigh and pulling him into the thrusts. He was rough but careful, always keeping his eyes on Jaskier’s face, watching him. “I want to see you. Show me how you fall apart.”

Jaskier shook his head. “Not yet,” he moaned, “I don’t want it to be over.”

“Next time we’ll make it last,” Geralt promised, shifting his angle so that he rubbed against Jaskier’s sweet spot.

“As long as there’s a next time.” He could feel the fire sparking in him, climbing higher, taking the choice away from him.

“Don’t doubt it.” Geralt paused long enough to kiss him, and Jaskier groaned at the lost rhythm even as he answered the kiss, almost too tender but somehow still perfect. Geralt pulled back and took hold of Jaskier’s cock, rubbing his thumb through the slickness there and tightening his fist until Jaskier threw his head back and cried out, desperately sucking in air as his whole body convulsed. He tightened around Geralt as he came, clenching down hard and crying out, not bothering to keep his voice down. Geralt waited until he relaxed, then whispered, “Jas,” like it was the only word he knew, and quietly spilled inside him in long pulses.

Afterwards Jaskier draped himself heavily over Geralt’s body, not hearing a word of complaint, and pressed weak kisses to the sweaty skin beneath his cheek. Geralt smelled like leather, like earth, and Jaskier licked his lips and tasted salt.

“I would have brought the building down,” Jaskier mumbled, shifting his thigh more comfortably over the top of Geralt’s.

“More than one building, I’d say.”

Jaskier arched like a cat into the slow sweep of Geralt’s fingers down his spine. “I can be even louder, if you like,” he said with a smile, hiding his face against Geralt’s shoulder.

“I know you can,” Geralt answered with a low huff of laughter. “I just want you to be you. However loud or quiet that is.”

Jaskier, for once in a very long time, found himself without words, so he just dug in his fingers a little on Geralt’s chest, and hoped that he understood.

~*~

They slept lightly for a good portion of the afternoon, waking hungry at dinnertime. They ate downstairs in a quiet corner of the tavern, and it wasn’t any different than any other time they’d eaten together, except that Jaskier kept rubbing Geralt’s calf with his foot and making innocent faces whenever Geralt raised an eyebrow. After dinner Jaskier retrieved his lute and gave one of his best performances in recent memory. He threw every bit of his passion and his anguish and his hope into his singing, and the release was exhilarating.

When Jaskier took his bows to rousing applause and returned to Geralt, sweaty and trembling and grinning hard enough to hurt his cheeks, Geralt grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into a kiss right there where anyone could see. Jaskier didn’t know if anyone noticed, and didn’t care at all. He dragged Geralt upstairs and pressed him back against the pillows, riding him with all the energy he had left in his body, until Geralt was the one to cry out when he came and Jaskier watched silently, triumphant.

~*~

The next day they left, walking side by side with Geralt leading Roach. They climbed the hills up toward the castle, the way they had come down, leaving the town behind. They didn’t know where they were going, and had decided to let the road choose for them. Jaskier had always been a great believer in floating in the direction the wind blew him, so he was pleased. Geralt was quiet beside him, but his expression was soft and open. Jaskier had honestly never seen him like that, and it made his heart clench.

“Did you really think I would leave you?” he blurted suddenly, stopping in the middle of the road.

Geralt sighed. “You’ve left everyone else you’ve been with. I had no reason to think I was special.”

Jaskier thumped him lightly in the ribs. “I left them all for _you_ , you ass. I left them to follow you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And I never tried anything with you because I thought you weren’t interested. That you’d be appalled. I didn’t want to risk you turning me down, and then turning me away.”

Geralt scoffed. “We’re a pair of prize fools.”

Jaskier hummed his agreement, then slowly grinned. “I have an idea.”

“Gods help us,” Geralt muttered.

“You want proof that I won’t leave you?”

“Jaskier.”

He jumped up on a nearby boulder and looked down on the castle and the town and the lake, glittering below them. He spread his arms wide and shouted to the sky, “ _I love Geralt of Rivia!_ ”

It echoed down the valley, calling back to them over and over. Jaskier turned to look over his shoulder at Geralt and saw him standing in the road, formidable in his armor, Roach’s dropped reins dangling beside him, looking absolutely dumbstruck.

Jaskier jogged back over to him, breathless with hope. Geralt pulled him in with clumsy arms and Jaskier got as close as the armor would let him, resting his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. Even through the armor Jaskier could feel him tremble, could feel it in the kiss pressed to his temple, could feel it in Geralt’s grip on his waist. He could feel Geralt tremble in his silence.

Jaskier closed his eyes and turned his face up to the clear sky and the brilliant sun, basking in the heat of it, letting his heart beat as hard as it could. When he opened his eyes the sky was still endlessly blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments give me life! Let me know what you think! <3


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